


We Go Together

by Evalie_Soto (Missalyssasecret), Missalyssasecret



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Being Walked In On, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, M/M, Making Love, Protective Hugh, Snapshots, space boos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2021-04-23
Packaged: 2021-04-24 16:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 244
Words: 198,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missalyssasecret/pseuds/Evalie_Soto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missalyssasecret/pseuds/Missalyssasecret
Summary: Snapshots of life together (and apart) for one stubborn astromycologist and one doctor with more patience than anyone deserves.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 2501
Kudos: 493





	1. Syncope

**Author's Note:**

> There is something so warm and right about the way Anthony Rapp and Wilson Cruz have brought to life a comfortable and caring relationship, and I want to capture some of that magic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s just a little tired.

Hugh nearly collides with Ensign Tilly on his way into his quarters. It’s a sign of how tired he is from pulling a double shift that involved hours of surgery after an accident in one of the science labs (plasma burns and percussive injuries should never go together) that he doesn’t even register the presence of someone in the doorway until Tilly’s surprised, “Oh shit! I mean I’m sorry Doctor Culber, I didn’t, I mean-“ cuts through the haze of exhaustion in his brain.

By that point, both of her hands are gripping his shoulders tightly to steady him as he sways like an old-fashioned sailing ship in a tempest, still apologizing profusely. 

“-I know I should look where I’m going, but what are the odds that someone is coming through a door in the opposite direction-“

Hugh blinks slowly, props himself up on the bulkhead, and tries to form words.

”Ensign. You’re...it’s fine.”

The world is greying out at the edges, and the part of his mind that’s still functional registers the look of alarm on Tilly’s face, the way his pulse is beating too loudly in his ears, and unhelpfully informs him that he’s about to pass out. Paul appears at Tilly’s shoulder, and Hugh watches a handful of PADDs hit the deck and scatter.

_Paul must have dropped them_, he decides absently, _I hope Tilly doesn’t trip over them._

Both of their mouths are moving, but he can’t hear anything over the dull ringing in his head. He thinks he manages an apology, but his lips and tongue feel wooden and unresponsive.

The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is Paul’s concerned face.

****  
”Hugh? Hugh!”

His brain feels like jellied Denevan custard, wobbly and dense. He’s lying on a carpeted surface, but he can’t remember how he got there. It would be a lot easier to think without Paul’s voice saying his name insistently and the hand shaking his shoulder.

”...stop it,” he mumbles, gratified when the hand doing the shaking moves up to cup his cheek instead. 

”Oh thank fuck,” Tilly’s voice comes from his left side, relieved and nervous all at once, “should I still comm Sickbay?”

Paul opens his mouth to reply, but Hugh beats him to it.

”No, thank you, I’ll be fine.”

”You just fainted,” his partner points out unnecessarily, clearly torn between listening to Hugh or telling Tilly to get help.

He helps Hugh to sit up, keeping a solicitous arm around his shoulders while Tilly dashes over to the synthesizer for water. When she returns, Paul’s more or less managed to maneuver Hugh onto the low couch in front of the viewports, and he accepts the glass gratefully.

”Really, it’s okay,” he tells them between slow mouthfuls, “minor vasovagal syncope, not unexpected.”

Two brilliant engineers blink blankly back at him.

”I’ve been standing for the last ten hours,” he explains when the staring turns awkward, “didn’t stop for lunch or dinner, so a little bit of heart irregularity and my blood pressure dropped.”

”Heart irreg- oh! Oh, that’s my fault, I’m so sorry-“

He raises a hand before Tilly can pick up steam.

”No need to apologize Ensign, no harm done.”

“Ummm, right. Okay. I should go and uhh, let you two...you know. Whatever you were going to do together. Oh shi- I didn’t mean that you were going to do that, two consenting adults in a relationship of course you can, but I meant-“ Tilly pauses for breath, then slaps her hands over her mouth, cutting off the flow of words.

There’s an uncharacteristically fond look in Paul’s eyes when he tugs on Tilly’s elbow until she stands and gently shoos her out of their quarters. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks once the door swishes closed, frown reappearing on his brow.

“Yeah babe, I’m fine,” Hugh hastens to reassure him, tugging his collar open and unzipping his jacket. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, shrugging out of the jacket and sighing.

“Long day, I just want to eat something and climb in bed with you.”

Paul bends down for a belated kiss hello, and Hugh can feel him smiling against his lips. It’s the small, soft smile that he only lets out in the privacy of their quarters, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle when he pulls back enough to make eye contact.

”I think I can arrange something for that.”


	2. Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffy Culmets making out amidst the mushrooms. Goes from sweet to hot to...profound.

Hugh eases them down, Paul’s head coming to rest among the fungi pillowed on one of the larger specimens. His weight compresses the cap slightly, golden spores shedding from its underside to dance around them. The cultivation bay has its own contained ventilation, and that includes Paul programming it to create a slight breeze, gentle currents carrying spores up into the air.

Paul watches him as the shimmering spores land on their uniforms, chuckling and brushing them off Hugh’s shoulders.

”What?”

“Just...enjoying the moment.”

His eyes have gone dark with desire, but there’s something gentler lingering in their depths as well. It’s not precisely what Hugh had planned when he headed down to Engineering after their shifts ended, intent on collecting Paul for a real dinner, the kind eaten sitting down without a PADD in one hand. Instead, he’d found his errant lover recalibrating a tricorder, sitting cross-legged in the forest of his own making. Paul had pulled him down beside, setting aside the tricorder and climbing into Hugh’s lap to kiss him with a hunger that spoke to nearly a week of discordant schedules.

Which brings them to the present, Paul’s hands roaming freely over Hugh’s back, fingertips teasing under the edge of his collar. The neediness gives way to slower, deeper kisses, lips and tongues meeting in a dance they both know well.

When Hugh pulls back, he can’t tear his eyes away from pale skin gone pink with beard-burn, a testament to their actions.

”We should-“ he pauses as fingers pass over his throat, heading for the V of his collarbone, “should lock the door.”

”I did as soon as you walked in. I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here.”

Hugh ducks down again, nuzzling into the crook of neck and shoulder, pulling aside the fabric in his way.

”Were you tracking me, love?”

From anyone else it would sound like an accusation, but the playful question only evokes another quiet laugh.

”I promise I only use my powers for good.”

He thumbs over a fading love bite just under the collar of Paul’s undershirt, sighing as the burst of lust banks down into a warm knot in his stomach. The cultivation bay is hardly the right place for a tryst, despite the privacy; they’re both too old to be rolling around a hillock when they have a perfectly good bed a few decks away.

“I was thinking, dinner and going to bed early?”

”I’m not exactly tired, Hugh.”

Paul wiggles his hips, nudging them together.

”I said bed, not sleep.”

”In a few. I want to stay like this a little longer.”

Hugh shifts his weight enough that they can both roll onto their sides, ignoring the way his uniform trousers have gone a little tight. Years in and he still can’t help his body’s reaction to Paul’s voice, his scent, the way he touches Hugh with reverent desire. Blue eyes are half-lidded with satisfied affection, and he stares unabashedly.

Everything has led them here.

Loving his brilliant, mushroom-mad scientist.

”Hugh?” Paul’s voice breaks his reverie, gentle curiosity mixed with a hint of concern, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

”Because it feels right.”

”What does?”

He can tell Paul’s caught on, but is going along with it because he wants to hear Hugh say it.

”You, me. Us.”

Right at that moment, the breeze stirs up the spores again, swirling around them, and a thought strikes him.

“The mycelial network- if it connects everything, does that mean it connects everyone too? Like some sort of quantum spider’s web of reality?”

”Tilly has a theory that the mycelia are responsible for ‘correcting’ time loops, and they-“ Paul stops himself, a rarity when he has the opportunity to posit at length, “-essentially. Yes. Infinite multiverses with fungi running through all of them. Infinite possibilities.”

”You mean, there might be one out there where we’re not together?”

It’s meant as a tease, but Paul must pick up on the strand of discomfort running through his question.

”I can’t imagine a reality where I don’t love you, my dear doctor.”

The next kiss is sweet, close-mouthed but all the more intimate for it. Paul curves his hand around the back of Hugh’s neck, whispers against his lips.  
  
”I wouldn’t want to.”


	3. Shower, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's feeling insecure. Hugh couldn't disagree more.

Paul's already in the shower when Hugh returns to their quarters, greeted by steam and the sound of running water as he toes his boots off. The fact that he's opted for a water shower instead of sonic suggests he's probably had a frustrating day in Engineering, or his partner is brooding over some sort of problem that he just can't logic his way out of. Either way, Hugh suspects he won't object to company, discarding his uniform as he crosses to the bathroom. Paul is silhouetted against the frosted glass door, and Hugh can just make out the way he's leaning forward on his arms folded against the wall, head bowed.

Option two then.

He opens the door and steps inside, shivering as the full force of steam hits bare skin. It's less pounding spray and more a fine mist, cloaking the cubicle in fog.

"It's me," he murmurs when Paul doesn't raise his head to look.

"Superfluous," comes the mutter, "I certainly hope no one else on this ship has our access code _and_ the audacity to get in the shower with me."

Hugh nudges him aside with his hip, reaching for the soap as he steps under the spray. Paul's probably already washed himself, but there's emotional health benefits to casual touch between intimate partners. It's a flimsy excuse, and really, Hugh just wants to massage out the knots of tension he can see at the base of his neck and shoulders.

"I love your hands."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Yes. I'm carrying on a torrid affair with your hands. We're exchanging sexually explicit comms during the day, and last week while you were asleep, I let them grope me. All over."

His voice is tired and tight, but banter is a good sign. 

"I wasn't asleep."

"...I thought your aim was oddly specific."

Paul pushes off the wall, turning under Hugh's slick hands as they spread soap suds over his torso and tilting his chin up for a kiss. He lets his hands fall to Paul's waist, stroking teasingly over his hips and holding firmly, loving the solid _presence _under his grip. A shudder travels up Paul's body as he squeezes, and Hugh's eyes open. 

"What's bothering you, sweetheart?"

"Long day. It's nothing."

"That didn't feel like nothing."

It almost felt like he was flinching away, and Hugh frowns when Paul won't meet his eyes.

"Tilly got into an argument with a couple of crew while she was in Jefferies Tube Seven today."

The statement seems like a non sequitur, but Paul's not staring over Hugh's left shoulder the way he does when he's trying to change the subject.

"Tilly? Ensign Sylvia Tilly, arguing?"

"Yeah."

"What caused it?"

"She was defending our honor, apparently. Mine, specifically."

Hugh taps the control panel, switching from steam to sonic. Steam always makes his nose run, and a wet Paul is a distraction to what sounds like a serious conversation.

"Go on."

"I sent her in to check the plasma relays, because we were getting some static in the flux buffers. While she was in there, I'm told there was another team working just past the junction and they weren't happy about me having her re-route power. Something about having to go to the medbay to have a burn looked at last week."

Paul pauses, and Hugh gestures with his eyebrows. 

_Go on._

"Anyway. According to them, you're a hot piece of ass that they'd like to hit, and they don't know why...yeah."

The sonics whisk away the mist, leaving their skin damp, and he watches Paul fidget with his hands.

"Paul?"

"Why someone like you is with a middle-aged, socially awkward loser that you probably have to fuck facedown because seeing me naked would be disgusting."

Hugh blinks a few times, jaw clenching. He'd been prepared for a humorous story, or one that at least ended with some gentle fun being poked at Tilly's lack of verbal filter. This was something else, and he's torn between righteous outrage on Paul's behalf and wondering if he could find out the crew member's names to have some words of his own. Instead, he schools his tone to be as mild as possible, because Paul seems strangely affected by it.

"I think we should nominate Tilly for a commendation."

"Huh?"

"For restraint in not punching them."

"Oh. Well, I only found out because Reno was walking by and heard Tilly yelling at them, and when she found out why, dragged them up to Saru for unprofessional behavior and inappropriate comments about a fellow officer."

Paul's not angry though, as far as Hugh can tell. If anything, he appears resigned to it all.

"Love, talk to me."

He shrugs unhappily, playing with the fingers of Hugh's left hand. 

"I just...remember when we first started- when you used to tell me how much you loved how your hands went around my waist?"

Hugh's missing something.

"...years ago, sure. What's that got to do with a pair of assholes insulting you?"

"Look at this," Paul mumbles, poking angrily at his own midsection, "why would you want to see this?"

Oh.

Hugh takes a deep breath and chooses his words carefully, knowing that he can't minimize Paul's concerns, even if he thinks they're ridiculous.

"One. I love you. Second," he gently pulls his hand free and wraps his arms around Paul's waist, pulling their bodies flush, "we're both a little older than when I said that. Bodies naturally change over time, and it's hardly an indicator of anything except physiology."

"But you're so-"

"Third. Listen to me, love. This?" he pinches some of that flesh between his fingers, "This, your body, tells the story of us. Yes, your waist circumference was smaller, _because you were so engrossed in your work you weren't eating or sleeping properly_. You used to spend days on protein cubes in the lab. This tells me, you've let me take care of you, and we've gotten older. _Together._"

The frown creasing Paul's brow subsides as he listens, tension draining out.

"I- how did I ever deserve you?"

Hugh releases his waist to cup Paul's face in both hands.

"I'm the lucky one, sweetheart. And I hope we deserve each other."

Paul blinks rapidly, blowing out a long breath.

"Oh," Hugh adds, "remind me to thank Tilly later."

"What for?"

"Being the one to deal with it, because I don't think Starfleet would be happy to hear that a medical officer punched one of their shipmates."

It startles a laugh out of Paul, which was his intention, and he reaches over to shut off the sonics.

"Okay." 

"Come on, let's get something to eat and then I'm going to take you to bed and demonstrate exactly how much I love every inch of your body."

"Every inch?"

"Some inches more than others."

Paul pauses with his hand on the door.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Being you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see Stamets as someone who pretends to be above it all because he's secretly affected by everything. If they had been just insulting him, he'd laugh it off, but targeting his perception of how Hugh thinks of him would really shake his confidence. And of course Hugh wouldn't be having any of it, because he's not shallow enough to think it matters.
> 
> Part 2 in chapter 10


	4. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul reflects on his partner.

Hugh Culber is a good person.

Whenever Paul says so, Hugh will bite his lip and look down, or remind him that he has not-so-good qualities: he snores, he’s grumpy if he’s woken up before 0600, he doesn’t like Paul’s xenophobic uncle (no one does, but that’s irrelevant).

Paul’s not deterred. He’ll take the kiss that follows, silenced but still knowing the truth.

Hugh is kinder, gentler, stronger than anyone he’s ever met. His chosen profession, healing others, requires all three qualities in order to be a good physician. And Hugh is an excellent doctor who _cares_ for his patients.

Paul imagines if he could somehow see the complex energies making up his partner, there would be a permanent flow from his heart through his hands as they mend. Sometimes the mycelial network lingers in his synapses, tiny glimpses of the invisible, and Hugh glows golden and warm.

He still looks at Paul with desire, but more importantly, with a depth of affection that used to scare him. Not because he didn’t believe it or didn’t reciprocate (far from it), but because he was afraid of someday being undeserving. 

He’s stayed with Paul all of these years, through months of separation, of nights he was too wrapped up in his work to come to bed. He _understands_ what drives Paul, even if he’s concerned for his health and safety.

Hugh says he feels safe in Paul’s arms, but he doesn’t realize that some nights Paul is clinging to him like an anchor, afraid to let go. No matter how confused he gets, how much the jumps have scrambled his senses, Hugh is his constant. 

When Hugh is gone (_dead_ his brain screams, _murdered_), Paul is adrift. It’s unfathomable how the universe could allow someone so good to be taken away.

When Hugh is back, it’s almost worse because Paul can still see his Hugh under all of the trauma of dying and being remade, sees flashes behind eyes gone hard with an unknowable amount of time fighting for survival in the network. At least when he was dead, Paul could be angry, could cry into the emptiness of their bed, could breathe his scent until it faded.

_No, that’s not right._ Hugh deserves to be happy, no matter who he’s with. Nothing else matters but that he’s _alive_. And if Paul no longer deserves him, then he owes the memory of that good man to let him go with grace.

Forward motion is a lie.

Paul can’t move forward without him. He’s rarely lied to Hugh (except about the spore drive, always the spore drive), but that’s the biggest lie he’s ever told.

He wonders if Hugh actually believes him, and can’t decide which would be worse, that he no longer knows Paul enough to see he’s lying or that he sees it and doesn’t care.

There’s no time after that, not to be alone in their bed unable to sleep, or to run after Hugh and ask him not to go. Maybe 900 years will be enough distance for Paul’s heart to finish breaking.

When he’s lying on a biobed, metal sticking out of his chest and more blood soaking his uniform with every beat of his pulse, when he sees the size of the shrapnel lodged right over his heart, he thinks he really might die this time. And he’s relieved that it’s the middle of the battle, and if Discovery is successful, Hugh won’t have to know. He doesn’t need Paul to hold him back, dead or alive.

A figure in white approaches, and through the haze of agony with each breath, Paul hears a voice he thought to know again only in his memories and saved comms.

”Wherever we go, we go together.”

Lips brush his forehead, and Paul lets go of his fight to stay conscious. When he wakes up, he’s going to do whatever it takes to be worthy of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be some fluff about Hugh being too modest. Ooops?


	5. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is back, and Paul can’t wait to start living again.

Doctor Pollard eventually shoos Paul out so she can finish running tests and scans, using science and medicine to prove that Hugh is really there when Paul doesn’t need any of that. Hearing his name, the incredulous whisper breaking at the end, the feel of Hugh’s skin under his hands...that’s all he needs to _know._

She doesn’t want him touching Hugh again until she’s done, and he wonders if part of her motivation is wanting to work without the distraction of his pacing and fidgeting. 

It was difficult to release him when she arrived in Engineering to begin with, rocking Hugh in his arms, laughing and crying all at once. Tilly and Michael stood close by, doing much of the same while clutching each other for support. They had also very pointedly not looked any lower than Hugh’s bare chest.

He finds himself humming Hugh’s favorite aria as the doors to their quarters slide shut. His face feels like it’s stretched in a permanent smile, and he’s not going to try and suppress it. Not anymore. 

A shower washes away the sweat and grit of the network, and he dresses for bed eagerly. Sliding under the covers, he contemplates Hugh’s pillow, a fresh set of pajamas folded neatly on it, waiting.

_Soon_.

Paul rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, heart awash with joy. Surely Doctor Pollard’s tests will be done tomorrow, and Hugh can come home. He’s already planning what to make for dinner, what music to play. When they climb into bed together, he’s going to hold him kiss him and fit their bodies together until they fall asleep. They’ll wake up together too, no more cold sheets and emptiness.

And when Hugh feels up to it, they’ll make love. Paul will control his usual impatience with going slow, will caress and kiss and worship his body, touch every place that brings him pleasure until they both can’t stand it any longer. There will be time later to sate the passionate hunger, time to give voice to his lust. Instead, they’ll rock together tenderly, tumble over the edge entwined.

After, Paul will promise to never, ever take Hugh for granted again. He’ll pledge to try harder to make it home for dinner barring emergencies, to tell Hugh how much he loves him daily.

He closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep, knowing it will be his last night alone after the nightmare of the past few months. 

_Tomorrow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your comments! I’m truly grateful for the time spent writing them and love being able to connect :)


	6. Sorrow

He makes them let him see Hugh, after.

Doctor Pollard, Tilly, Michael, they all try to dissuade him in varying tones of compassion, fragile mourning, and deep condolence.

Paul won’t be swayed.

He orders them all out, fingertips just brushing the surface of the stasis field keeping Hugh’s body pristine.

They go.

”Hugh...”

He barely recognizes his own voice, brittle and small. 

“Please-“

Paul’s not sure what he’s asking for.

Through the stasis field, Paul traces the outline of the familiar, beloved face.

Hugh is beautiful, the same as always, the wrinkles and lines of care smoothed out, lips just parted as if in slumber.

He lets his eyes linger on the grey hairs starting to show in Hugh’s beard, the nick below his jaw on the left side that could almost be mistaken for a shaving cut.

It’s not.

Tears well up, blurring his view of his love, as he remembers seeing the spot of blood as they laid together panting after, an unintentional product of his own scrabbling fingers during the height of passion.

He remembers kissing the scrape in apology and Hugh laughing off the concern.

Paul’s still wearing the fading remains of the lovebite on his collarbone that Hugh left in return.

Hands shaking, he enters the authorization code to lower the stasis field.

The panel beeps, requesting confirmation, and he steels himself for the six seconds he’ll have before the field reinstates itself.

_Confirm_.

Hugh’s skin smells like medical sanitizer and is cold to the touch, but Paul doesn’t care.

Gently, he cups his jaw and presses one final kiss to those lips, wishing for a miracle, for anything that means Hugh’s not really gone.

The panel beeps in warning, and he withdraws, a tear splashing down from his nose to land on Hugh’s cheek just as the stasis field hums back into place.

Ten minutes later, Paul walks out of the medbay, face drawn and eyes red.

Pollard, Tilly, and Burnham watch him pass in silence.

If Doctor Pollard scanned him with her tricorder, she’d find all of his vitals stressed but within acceptable levels given the situation, all signs pointing to Paul Stamets being alive and well.

She would be wrong.

His heart is lying cold and alone and dead behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for this one. Re-watching season one of Disco, and all I could think of was Paul having to confront the reality of Hugh’s death.


	7. Soaked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some humorous fluff to make up for the last few chapters of serious angst.

Tracy Pollard is just wrapping up before gamma shift comes on when the medbay doors snick open. She’s expecting to see someone from Engineering with a minor burn or maybe one of the ensigns with a sprained ankle from the gym.

Instead, she’s greeted by the sight of a very concerned Hugh leading Paul slowly across the threshold. Her eyes narrow as she takes in Paul’s definite limp, the dampness of his hair plastered against his skull, and what looks like it could almost be a blush across Hugh’s cheeks. As she watches, Hugh gently settles his partner on a biobed, lying on his side rather than his back. 

“So, do I want to know?”

Upon closer inspection, not only is Paul’s hair wet, but he’s wearing what looks like Hugh’s undershirt, backwards and clinging to his wet skin.

”Ahem,” Hugh tries and almost succeeds in pulling his professional face on, “the Lieutenant has injured his-“

”Hugh,” Tracy cuts over him, “what happened?”

She’s got a scanner in hand, and it’s probably giving her the same read outs as the one Hugh’s clutching. 

“Well? Or do I have to guess.”

”I uhhh, slipped. In the ummm- ouch!” Paul flinches as her fingers carefully palpate his lower back, “in the shower.”

”Really.”

Her unimpressed tone is warring with the smirk threatening to break free.

”You’ve managed to bruise your tailbone quite throughly, Mister Stamets. A rather spectacular feat, given there’s no other fall injuries. I’d expect a sprained wrist from trying to catch yourself. You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“He didn’t.”

”You’re sure?”

”I- we,” Hugh’s definitely blushing up to his hairline, an impressive feat, “I was there. He didn’t.”

”There.”

”Yes.”

Tracy can’t resist.

”In the shower, with the lieutenant?”

”Yes.”

She jabs Paul’s hip with a hypospray, waiting out his yelp of surprise until it turns into a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.”

Paul’s clearly torn between embarrassment at his own situation and the amusement of watching his partner trying to deflect Tracy’s increasingly more pointed questions.

“It’s my understanding that all shower cubicles on this ship are standard sized, which leads me to ask how he could have fallen without you catching him?”

”The door.”

Hugh’s teeth are gritted together. He knows Tracy’s enjoying this, now that they’re sure Paul hasn’t broken anything.

”What’s the door have to do with Mister Stamets’ injury?”

Tracy watches Hugh’s face go even more red before bursting into laughter.

”Should I be offended that a doctor finds my plight funny?”

She waves a hand in acknowledgement of Paul’s half-hearted complaint, waiting for her giggles to die down.

”Well?”

”Ummm. We were in the shower and Paul was leaning on the door when one of us bumped the controls and it opened and he fell.”

”I didn’t fall, you dropped me!”

”If you weren’t squirming so much-“

”Boys,” Tracy interrupts, an indulgent smile in place, “just try to be more careful, all right?”

Hugh mutters something under his breath, and he still can’t meet her eyes.

”Can we go now?”

Paul’s already climbing off the biobed as he speaks.

”You probably shouldn’t do anything too strenuous, it’s going to be sore for a few days.”

Paul takes an experimental step, wincing, and a moment later Hugh sweeps him into a bridal carry.

”Thanks Tracy,” he addresses Paul’s shoulder, “Goodnight.”

She waves them on, still chuckling, and they make a fast retreat. Hugh’s never going to live this one down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I leave it up to the reader to decide exactly what these two were doing when Hugh dropped Paul. I know I have ideas... ;)


	8. Speculation, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh most definitely has some sort of necklace on that's barely visible in this scene, although it disappears in his later meeting with Admiral Cornwell. Wilson Cruz seems to wear a silver chain and pendant outside of work, but this looks different.

Something catches his eye, glinting in the blue light of the spore cube as Georgiou makes a dramatic exit. He's only half paying attention to Tilly's wide-eyed question, can't be sure what he murmurs in response. 

He's been trying hard not to follow the open V of fabric down across the swell of pectoral muscles and light dusting of hair. Hugh looks handsome in uniform, but formal Earth dress has always taken Paul's breath away. The tailored suit emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders, and Paul shakes his head to clear it, refocusing as Tilly captures Hugh's attention with some sort of query. 

There's the barest hint of a gold chain around Hugh’s neck, hidden under the starched collar of his shirt, and he can just make out a bump below where it’s buttoned. Paul's heart falls into his stomach, twists itself into a knot that barely dares to hope.

What does it mean?

Paul grips a PADD tightly, pretends to be engrossed in readouts, because he knows that necklace. Paul’s Academy ring is hanging from it, a gift several anniversaries ago. Hugh doesn't wear it all the time, but he most definitely does when they're apart, says that the weight is comforting. For him to be wearing it now overturns the fragile sort of resignation Paul's talked himself into, the limbo of not knowing. 

There's so much distance between them, but maybe, if Hugh is holding onto this piece of them, if Paul lets him go and gives him time to heal...

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel in chapter 37
> 
> Read more about why Hugh is wearing the ring in Chapter 44 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932235)


	9. Surprise

It's always a good day when Paul wakes up to Hugh watching him with a smile.

It's even better when he opens his eyes to find Hugh sitting on top of him.

Today, Hugh is doing both of those things and is also gloriously naked.

Paul is so going to be late for his shift.


	10. Shower, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the story in chapter 3 ("Shower"), aka what happens when Hugh finds out who insulted Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little hand-waving to bend the timeline, since Paul and Hugh aren't back together and certainly wouldn't be sharing a shower during season 2 when we meet Reno.
> 
> Warning as it were, for Hugh's very crude final line to Assholes 1 & 2.

Hugh comes off shift and heads down to Engineering, a small container of fruit in hand. Paul's already commed to say he's working a late night and will be home after dinner, but Hugh knows it's more than likely he won't eat at all, and that's not acceptable when he has someone to look out for him. 

He nods amiably to people passes on his way, stopping to share a few words with acquaintances. Just outside Engineering, something makes his shoulders tighten and he turns to see a couple of crewmen openly ogling his ass. Normally, Hugh doesn't have any problem with appreciative glances - he's not too modest to say that he keeps his body in excellent condition - and might choose to make light of the situation. In this case, the looks feel like an unwelcome touch, intrusive and jarring, and he does his best to ignore them.

Inside, he's bathed in the blue glow he's come to associate with Paul's spores. The doors close behind him, and he feels a sense of relief. Hugh squares his shoulders and shrugs off the negative feelings, greeting Tilly with a wide smile. He genuinely likes Paul's protégé, finding her enthusiasm endearing and her complete honesty refreshing. Also, she's remarkably intelligent (Paul wouldn't have asked for her to be assigned straight out of the Academy's placement program otherwise) and Hugh isn't above asking her to help keep an eye on his erstwhile partner.

"Hi Doctor Culber!" Tilly's voice is slightly muffled as she digs in a storage crate, "He's in the cultivation bay, should I tell him you're here, sir?"

"I'm off duty," Hugh leans on the crate to make sure she can hear him, unfastening his collar and tugging the zipper down a couple of inches, "it's Hugh. And no, I'll wait."

"Umm, right Doctor- Hugh. Uhhh. So, what brings you down here?"

He raises the box and shakes it gently when Tilly stands back up.

"Just trying to make sure he eats something tonight. You guys are going to be in here late?"

"We-"

"Yeah," a dry voice cuts in from behind them, "the mushroom lord thinks running side-by-side diagnostics along with a sequential jump simulation will help us work out a way to use less spore stuff."

Hugh smiles at Reno's typical sarcasm-laced explanation. She and Paul might butt heads, but he can see it's done with mutual respect despite the ready insults and complaints.

"-what Commander Reno said," Tilly finishes awkwardly.

"I see."

"Whaddya need, Doc? Loverboy is busy with his mushrooms - by the way, do you ever feel like you're playing second fiddle to a bunch of pizza toppings? - but he'll probably be back out soon."

Hugh opens his mouth to reply to both her epithet (he's not sure he'd laugh at anyone besides Reno calling Paul "loverboy") and question about Paul's priorities, but is interrupted by the doors opening again. The same crewmen who had been eye-fucking him in the corridor are carrying pieces of equipment and set them down with a clang.

"Hey, where do these go?"

Hugh frowns and takes a step back, moving between Tilly and the stacked crates so his white uniform is less conspicuous. There's something about those two he really doesn't like.

"First of all, it's 'where do these go, Commander?' " Reno plants a hand on her hip, "second, move 'em by the spore cube and don't touch anything."

"Since when does Reno care about protocol?" Hugh mutters to Tilly who gives him a wide-eyed shrug. She's glaring at the back of the men's heads, and he's startled by the complete lack of her characteristic sunny disposition.

They both let out a sigh of relief when the crewmen depart, and Reno turns to them with an eyeroll.

"C'mon Red, let's go see if Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber broke anything this time. You," she points at Hugh, "stay right there. They'll be back with more."

Mystified, he complies, waiting patiently while she and Tilly connect the equipment into the spore console and start a diagnostic program running.

"What's going on with those two?" 

He doesn't miss the way they exchange a significant look before Tilly gestures at Reno with a small frown.

"Couple of assholes," Reno informs him shortly.

"I really don't like them," Tilly adds, "they're the ones who- I mean, uhhh nothing. Right. Nothing."

Hugh narrows his eyes, taking in Tilly's nervous smile, then puts two and two together.

"They're the ones Tilly got into an argument with. About Paul."

"Ding ding, Doc. Doubt they learned their lesson either, sadly."

"I-"

The doors snick open again, and this time Hugh studies them with a careful eye. They're vaguely familiar, the kind of familiarity that he gets from crew physicals and gym visits, but no one he would recognize on sight. 

"Hurry it up and be careful this time, or you can explain to Stamets why you fucked up his design."

"Sorry, _sir,"_ one of them replies. The doors almost mask him adding under his breath, "...that pale ass freak."

"...Docto- Hugh?"

Tilly gently touches his arm, and he realizes he's clutching the container hard enough to warp the bioplastic. Hugh loosens his grip one finger at a time, breathing deeply to try and tamp down the anger curling in his stomach. It had taken a night of gentle touches and soft words to drag Paul completely out of his funk over what they'd said, and he's not keen to repeat the process of patiently convincing his partner that his self-doubt was unfounded.

"Hugh!"

Paul's voice banishes the storm clouds starting to gather overhead, and he turns to find him standing on the other side of the console, dusting spores off his shoulders.

"You're supposed to be home sleeping," he starts in, "I'll be there before 2300-"

The doors open again, and Paul's spine stiffens when he catches sight of who's handling his supplies. Hugh takes the two steps between them, cups Paul's face in his hands, and kisses him long and slow. He lets his hands linger on Paul's chest after, smiling at the surprise on his partner's face at the sudden public display of affection. Without looking behind him, he knows the others are all watching them, and makes a point of speaking a little more loudly than necessary.

"Don't keep me waiting, love."

The playful tone is laced with something darker, and he watches Paul's eyes glaze over for a moment before his normal dour expression is back in place. Setting the food down on the console, he squeezes Paul's ass, bids Tilly and Reno goodnight, and strides past the two crewmen without so much as a glance.

********

"What was that, earlier?" Paul asks at 0100 when he finally slides into bed next to Hugh, who blinks up at him sleepily.

"Hmmmm?"

"In there. With...them."

"Tilly let it slip, I thought I'd give them something to remember the next time they decide to insult you."

"Hugh, I..."

He lets Hugh gather him close, wriggling until their bodies are touching as much as possible.

"Hugh?"

"What?"

"Please tell me you're not going to- to _do_ anything to them."

"Shhh, go to sleep love."

********

The next few days are hectic, and Hugh gladly forgets about the unpleasant encounter. That is, until he walks into the gym for a session of weights and finds those same crewmen in his favorite spot in front of the holo-mirror. They don't look to be lifting, and he waits for them to leave.

"Oh, hi Doctor Culber!" Asshole #1 says in what he probably thinks is a friendly manner. 

"Gentlemen," he barely maintains a cordial tone, "do you mind moving?"

They clear his space, moving over to one of the benches, and he tries to keep his eyes on his reflection instead of watching them watch him. 

"Don't suppose you'd be up for a drink later, Doctor?" Asshole #2 asks when he passes by for more weights.

"Sorry," Hugh smiles insincerely, "I'm taken."

Neither of them should be lifting with that terrible form, and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes when they loudly discuss adding weight. He knows the type, and he's not impressed.

At all.

Returning the free weights to the rack, he pulls off his shirt with studied nonchalance, swiping at the sweat on his neck. As predicted, Asshole #2 who is supposed to be spotting nearly lets Asshole #1 drop the overloaded bar on his chest.

"Do you want some help spotting?" he calls over, Hugh the physician overriding Hugh the offended lover in concern for their safety.

They both look like they can barely believe their luck, and he crosses the room to take Asshole #2's place at the head of the bench.

A few reps in, and a thought occurs to him. 

"I think you could add more," he says, gesturing with his chin at the rack. 

There's no way either of them could actually lift that much, but they're eager to show off. Asshole #1 is practically drooling as Hugh's pectoral muscles flex, holding most of the weight himself.

"Open invitation, you know. If you ever want some...company."

"Thank you, but my _partner_ and I usually don't drink outside our quarters."

"If you don't mind me saying, you could do better."

Hugh doesn't reply, waiting until the bar is hovering inches away from Asshole #1's face before loosening his grip just enough that the weight starts to drop without him controlling it. Asshole #2 steps forward, but stops as Hugh narrows his eyes and pierces him with a look.

"No," he enunciates clearly, releasing a little more until the man's arms are shaking. There's no way he'd be able to stop the bar from breaking his nose - or worse - if Hugh lets go completely. He thinks back on what they said, and lets the cold anger loose.

"You see," Hugh continues conversationally, "I'm very happy with Paul. Extremely. And even if I wasn't, " he drops the bar further, "what makes you think I would have _any_ interest in someone who refuses to respect the boundaries of someone else's relationship? You have no idea what's between us, and I doubt either of you could possibly understand."

"Doctor-"

"You two have no idea how lucky you are that I took an oath to do no harm, because let me tell you, if I ever find out you've been saying inappropriate things about my partner again, you will regret it."

He lifts the bar out of the man's hands effortlessly, setting it on the floor. 

"Are we clear, gentlemen?"

They're both too shaken to respond, Asshole #1 panting for breath and #2 paling rapidly.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"-no, sir."

"Good."

He pulls his shirt back on and turns to leave, silence following him.

_According to them, you're a hot piece of ass that they'd like to hit, and they don't know why...yeah. Why someone like you is with a middle-aged, socially awkward loser that you probably have to fuck facedown because seeing me naked would be disgusting._

Before he can think better of it, he pauses just before the door's sensors will pick up his proximity and fixes them both with another look.

"I'm going to go home to my partner and we'll have a nice hot ride together, because that socially awkward loser? Turns me on so much. I only fuck him facedown when seeing his face while we make love makes me come so hard it hurts."

His cheeks are flaring with heat, shocked by his own boldness at sharing such a private thing, even in anger. Spinning on his heel, he stalks out of the gym and pauses in the turbolift moments later, trying to slow his breath. What's done is done, and hopefully he won't have to deal with it again. Theoretically, they could report his threat, but he doesn't think they will.

Sighing, he rubs his temples. He can't wait to be home.

********

"What did you do, Hugh?" 

Paul's voice drifts in from the sink as Hugh is rinsing shampoo out of his hair.

"What's that, love?"

"I just received a formal apology on my PADD from- well, you know."

"What makes you think I did anything?"

Hugh turns off the water and reaches for a towel, hand meeting only empty air. Frowning, he opens the door the rest of the way to find Paul barefoot, holding the towel to his chest pensively.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me. You didn't have to..."

He moves closer, heedless of the wet footprints he's leaving, tugging Paul to him by the towel.

"No, I didn't have to. But, people like that, who...say things, deserve to know how wrong they are."

Paul bites his lip and looks away, but Hugh catches his chin gently, raising his head until their eyes meet.

"Don't ever think I'll let anyone get away with hurting you."

He leans forward, nudging their noses together.

"Let me finish drying off? I just want to hold you tonight."

Paul's answering smile lights up the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one got away from me a bit - it was supposed to be another snippet, but ended up longer than 2,000 words. I set out to end it after Hugh drops a very possessive kiss on Paul in Engineering, but Hugh took it somewhere else. He seems like the calmest person in the world until someone he loves is threatened, and I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of his temper.


	11. Soothe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set early on in season one, before Tilly's figured out Paul and Hugh are a couple.

"Doctor Culber?"

Hugh turns from studying the latest data on vectors for Andorian cerebral viruses to find Tilly nervously fidgeting a few feet away. She's also clutching her left hand to her chest protectively, and he can see the cuff of her uniform sleeve is singed.

"Cadet? What happened?"

He's already reaching for a scanner with one hand while holding out the other, gently clasping her wrist to get a better look. It's a superficial burn, but spread over most of her palm and three fingers in a way that has to be extremely painful. She's still smiling tightly, and he's amazed at her ability to minimize discomfort.

"He told me to be careful, and I was, but see, there was a surge in the conduit while I was trying to check the circuits, and it sparked and I couldn't move my hand fast enough and he told me to come up here, but what if he's mad at me for getting hurt when he told me that-"

"Breathe, Cadet," Hugh reminds her mildly, parsing the run-on sentence. "Lieutenant Stamets won't be mad."

He gives her a quick hypo of analgesic, then flicks on a dermal regenerator and starts repairing the skin at her fingertips. Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes are starting to look suspiciously wet, but the hypo should more than numb any discomfort.

"Tilly?"

"...he yelled at me for getting hurt. What if he doesn't want me to work for him anymore because of this?"

Hugh's personal PADD dings, and he spares a quick glance where it's on the side table.

_[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Did she make it up there to you? Fix it please, I need to make sure the conduit doesn't blow up in anyone else's face today._

He shakes his head and smiles gently, setting down the regen briefly to rest his hand on Tilly's shoulder.

"Believe me, he's not actually mad at you."

"But-"

"Tilly, don't tell him I said so, but the Lieutenant likes you."

"...I don't think he does, he keeps yelling at me-"

Hugh picks up the regen again, passing it back and forth over her palm. He can't remember the last time Paul "called ahead" to ensure that someone had medical care for something relatively minor.

"Has he ever called you stupid? Or actually kicked you out to take over on a console?"

"...no."

"Let me tell you a secret, Tilly. He yells at people he likes because he knows they can do better, and because he doesn't have volume control when he gets excited by the science." 

"Are you sure? I mean, he's always frowning and pointing out-"

"Trust me on this. If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be on his team."

The regen finishes its cycle, and he checks the new skin carefully with his fingertips, never completely reliant on technology. 

"He told me to shut up the first time I met him, but I'm pretty sure he likes me now."

Tilly's eyes fly wide open, and her jaw follows suit.

"But you're a doctor!"

"He didn't care."

"And you're, I mean...you're sure he likes you? Not that I don't believe you Doctor Culber, but-"

Hugh grins.

"Yes, generally. Now go on back to Engineering, and tell him I said you're fit for duty."

"Okay? I mean, okay. Ummm. Thank you, Doctor."

He shoos her out with a wave, and picks up his PADD to type a quick reply.

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] She's fine. Quit scaring her, she's terrified you think she's incompetent._

_[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] She's brilliant. Clumsy, but brilliant. _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Maybe try telling your crew once a while. See you for dinner? You could ask Tilly to sit with us._

_[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Yeah. Maybe. Can't get a reputation for being nice though._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Grouch. Love you._

_[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Love you too, dear doctor. Later._


	12. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an easy one, be warned.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

Hugh snaps something in response, but Paul doesn’t hear it. He’s frozen as Hugh storms past him and out of their quarters, the echo of his voice lingering.

Years together, of highs and lows, and Hugh has never raised his voice like this to Paul. Exclamations of excitement when a friend commed to announce their engagement, a shout of surprise when internal gravity went haywire, a rare epithet when he stubs his toe, sure. Peals of laughter ringing through a room, many times. Cries of pleasure, loud enough that their neighbors bang on the bulkhead and they try to muffle the sounds of passion between each other’s lips, often. 

But never in anger.

For a moment, as the displaced air settles in Hugh’s wake, he realizes he didn’t recognize the man in front of him. 

_“Maybe that’s just who I **was**.”_

Losing Hugh the first time hurt less.


	13. Satisfy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Discovery. Paul and Hugh have spent months separated and are finding increasingly creative ways to fulfill their needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of technobabble that seems plausible enough :)

“Hey love.”

Hugh’s brilliant smile greets Paul when he taps the optical chip at his temple. Alone in his quarters, he unzips his jacket and stretches out on the bed, eager to escape the reality that has him so far apart from the love of his life.

”I think I finally figured out the settings to project...hang on-“ the holoimage blurs for a moment, followed by the click of a recording device being set down, and then Hugh reappears seemingly lounging on the other side of the mattress. “There we go. I hope you’re lying down to watch this, because I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Paul can’t help the gentle laugh at Hugh’s conspiratorial tone. Spending months light years away from each other meant they had to get creative with intimacy. Comms and messages about everyday things helped keep them connected, but the need for each other on a purely physical level was the most difficult to maintain. 

In front of him, Hugh peels off his own uniform piece by piece, turning it into a playful striptease. Paul knows his partner’s body in loving detail, but never ceases to be hypnotized by every inch of skin bared. His eyes fall half closed as he imagines running his hands over the sculpted planes of Hugh’s chest, fingers fitting into the ridges of muscle in his taut stomach. A coil of heat starts to gather behind his navel, and he unbuttons his own pants in anticipation.

Hugh is finally gloriously naked, unselfconscious in his nudity (as he should be, his body is made for worship...). He winks and reaches into thin air over the edge of the bed, then lifts a pair of sensor gloves into view. They remind Paul of the ones used for manipulating tools and robotic systems in the worker bees, but seem to have an additional fine web of sensors along each finger.

”Chas in Engineering owed me a favor for clearing up a nasty case of Ventakan herpes before they had to explain to their spouses,” Hugh explains as he fits the bands and cables onto his hands, “totally non-sexual transmission, I think one of their livestock sneezed on them in passing, but either way...”

He flexes his fingers, then looks up again.

”Do you have the package I sent with you? I hope so. If not, and I know how much you hate waiting, but we won’t be able to do this without it. Go ahead and open it if you do.”

Intrigued, Paul taps the optical chip to pause and lifts the box off the nightstand. It’s a standard nondescript grey ‘fleet parcel carrier, and he triggers the voiceprint lock. The two halves pop open, spilling a small data solid and a bundle of dark fabric onto the bed.

He lifts the smooth fabric and shakes it to unfold. It proves to be a silk pajama top, one he remembers giving Hugh for his birthday last year. More importantly, as he brings it to closer to inspect, it smells so strongly of Hugh - wood and spice and citrus - that he can’t help pressing it to his cheek, nuzzling it longingly. 

It takes a couple of minutes for him to surface, and he glances over at the holoimage of Hugh, chest aching. Then he taps the chip to resume, nose still buried in the silk.

”I love that shirt, and the only reason I’m giving it up for a while is so you can wear it. I expect you to bring it back to me next month. Put it down for a minute though, okay?”

Paul nods even though no one is there to see it, folding the shirt lovingly and setting it on his pillow.

“I hope you’ve got the modification specs I sent for the gravity simulator?”

Paul does indeed, and inserts the data solid into the control panel of the portable unit as he sheds the last of his clothing. Technically he borrowed it from Engineering under the auspices of running an experiment overnight, and it wasn’t precisely a lie, but the thrill of using it for lewd purposes has him excited.

”If you’re ready love, go ahead and start the pressure wave interface. I don’t have to ask if you’re naked, do I?”

There’s a quiet hum as it kicks on, and the hair on his arms prickles with pinpoints of static as his skin comes into contact with the low level force fields. Hugh gives his chest an experimental caress, and Paul gasps in response to the phantom sensation of it on his own skin. It’s not quite the same as actual touch, but the simulation created by force fields and air pressure is still better than his own hand when he knows it’s Hugh’s touch (even if twice-removed).

”I’m going to assume that you felt that,” Hugh’s grinning wickedly, and Paul is forced to remind himself that it’s just a holo-projection sprawled out a few inches away on the sheets. If he closes his eyes and ignores the slight transparency, he can almost pretend his partner is really there. The fabric under his cheek is slippery, and he breathes in deeply, letting the familiar scent fill him with warmth. 

“Lie back sweetheart, and let me take care of you.”

Smiling, Paul settles more comfortably on the pillow and does as he’s told.

In the morning, he carries the device carefully back to the lab, humming cheerfully the whole way and ignoring the strange looks from the techs as he sets it on the shelf.

Nothing like a successful experiment.


	14. Sorry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s hands are magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very suggestive (okay, outright titillating) language, but no actual graphic descriptions. Culmets made me do it. 
> 
> Should I change the rating to M?

There are more wonderful things about being with Hugh than he could possibly list, but at this moment Paul is especially enamored with his hands. The thing about doctors, he muses, is that those skilled hands with their sensitive fingertips that perform microsurgery knew _exactly_ where and how to touch to leave him aching and breathless. 

Or maybe it’s just Hugh who knows, but he’s not complaining.

His own hands seem clumsy by comparison, even if they’re dexterous enough to handle the most delicate spore specimens without shaking. Right now, they’re clutching fistfuls of dirt in a corner of the cultivation bay, the same dirt grinding into the knees of his uniform and that he was busily scanning up until a few minutes ago.

He and Hugh are both passionate men in the privacy of their quarters, contained and professional (mostly) in uniform, limited to casual touch and meaningful looks. They might hold hands in the observation lounge or share a kiss in the turbolift, but that’s the extent in any public space where someone might chance to spy them. 

Which is exactly why he wasn’t expecting the sound of approaching footsteps to be swiftly followed by a well-muscled body plastered to his back. 

Hugh’s knees bracket his thighs, teeth nipping at his earlobe as his clever fingers move confidently under his jacket and tease open the fastening on his trousers. 

“...Hugh?”

The single syllable comes out higher and breathier than intended, and his response is a sensual chuckle that sends a shiver down his spine. That’s Hugh’s bedroom laugh, low and full of promise. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Innocent words belie a warm hand delving below the waistband of his briefs and...getting intimately reacquainted with a certain part of his anatomy.

”Wha- oh god, what are you...”

It takes two tries to get the words out.

”What am I doing?”

”...yes. Exactly. You-“

”You’ve been working so _hard_, love,” Paul’s eyes fall shut as the hand squeezes firmly, accompanied by Hugh’s lips brushing over the side of his neck, “and you haven’t been home earlier than 2300 all week.”

”Are you- fuck, are you feeling neglected?”

Hugh’s other hand tugs open his jacket, fingers tickling over the fine hairs on his stomach.

”A little. I thought you deserved a treat, and if you can’t spare the time in bed,” Paul winces at the gentle chiding in his words, “I’ll just have to bring it to you.”

The hand down his pants does something that makes his eyes nearly cross, and he can’t contain the moan that follows. Holding his head up abruptly becomes much less comfortable than letting it fall back onto a broad shoulder. Above them, the spores are dancing with pinpoints of bioluminescence in the bay’s dusk cycle.

_Beep_.

_Beep_. _Beep_.

“Tilly to Stamets. Lieutenant?”

”Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Hugh sounds far too put together and calm, although Paul can almost taste the amusement coming off him. Loosing the soil, he blindly fumbles for the communicator on his belt.

”Thi- ahem, Stamets here. What is it Tilly?”

He’s rather proud of how steady he sounds, not at all like he’s kneeling twenty feet away from the rest of the Engineering crew with his partner’s hand down his pants.

”Doctor Culber was looking for you, I figured it would be okay so I let him in, but just in case it wasn’t I wanted to make sure that you knew because- is everything okay, sir?”

Tilly’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. Fuck. The communicator must have picked up his harsh breathing.

”F- fine, Cadet. I...”

Hugh’s hand slides out from under his shirt and plucks the communicator from his fingers.

”Culber here. I found the Lieutenant, Cadet, no need to worry.”

”Oh! Great. I mean, of course.”

There’s a swish of displaced air that sounds familiar, but Paul’s brain is in the process of rebooting courtesy of one Hugh Culber.

”-and so I think I’ve found the right frequency, but I want to test it on those soil samples you’re scann- OH MY GOD!”

Paul realizes ten seconds too late that the noise was the bay doors opening. He can feel the blush starting in the middle of his chest, and washing upwards, hot over his cheeks.

By some small miracle, Tilly took the longer path and is standing behind and just off to the side. At that angle, with his open jacket it probably looks like Hugh is just cuddling him, which apparently is bad enough to make her turn a similar shade of red.

”I’M SO SORRY!” Tilly stares for a few seconds before whirling around to face the wall, “I had no idea, or I wouldn’t-“

”Cadet,” Hugh somehow manages to sound gently amused, “can you give us a few minutes? I’m sure the lieutenant can bring the samples out to you.”

”What? Oh! Yes, yes, that’s completely fine, sir. I mean, why would it not be okay? I’ll just- owww- just wait at my station. And ummm, yes. That.”

Her voice is pitching higher with acute embarrassment, and Paul sympathizes. Given the soft thud, it sounds like she bumped into one of the walls in her haste to exit.

”Tilly?” He works hard to keep his tone level. “Could you maybe not say anything? About this?”

She’s on the other side of the small hillock, and he turns his head to see her pause. Tilly’s actually got her hands up like blinders, shielding their (purported) cuddling from view. If he weren’t so mortified, he’d probably appreciate the humor in the situation, but as it is he’s just grateful she didn’t approach from the main path.

”Huh? Oh, right! No, I mean yes, I didn’t see anything, of course not. Nothing to see, nothing to say. Sorry again sir, Doctor, ummm, I’ll-“

The door opening then closing cuts off her apology, and Paul buries his face in his (dirt-covered) hands. Behind him, Hugh’s shaking with poorly contained laughter. He tries to school his features into a scowl, but the giggles are infectious.

”Fuck- Hugh, the one time you try to, to, to get busy and _Tilly_ bursts in-“

”Serves me right! Oh god, can you imagine if she’d actually seen what I was doing?”

Hugh retrieves his other hand, wrapping both arms around Paul’s waist to steady them both. Eventually, the giggles calm and Paul wriggles around to face him.

”I am sorry, for ignoring you.”

”It’s not ignoring me, I knew you were like this and fell in love with you anyway,” Hugh’s sparkling eyes invite him to share the tease, “but I do miss you.”

Paul nods, looking around the mycelial forest.

”Tell you what. Let me finish getting the samples, drop them off with Tilly, and we can call it a night?”

He starts to stand, pausing when Hugh tugs his wrist.

”What?”

”You're about to go out there looking like a second year cadet after a dorm party. Hold on.”

Hugh stands and quickly re-fastens his pants, deft fingers settling him in behind the zipper, straightening Paul’s jacket and brushing a smear of dirt off his cheek.

”There.”

”Thank you, dear doctor.”

He gives Hugh a quick peck on the lips, shooing him out with a swat to his ass.

”Go on, I’ll be home in less than twenty minutes. I promise.”

Hugh’s laugh follows him out of the bay, and Paul leans down to gather his sample tubes. He weighs his carefully cultured taciturn disposition against honest gratitude, and decides he probably owes Tilly at least three instances of praise in the next twenty-four hours for her discretion. 

Shouldering the sample kit, he looks down at the impression of his knees in the dirt and feels his face heat again. Then he turns towards the door, intent on transferring the tubes with maximum efficiency to minimize mutual embarrassment. 

Yes, that’s what he’ll do. Absolutely not thinking about anything else. Not one bit.

He better get a move on. Hugh’s waiting for him.


	15. Sharp

Hugh doesn’t like Gabriel Lorca.

It’s more than the man’s overly militant demeanor, the way he snaps orders and makes demands that the crew find unreasonable. 

It’s not just Paul telling him on a regular basis how much the Captain is playing on his last nerve. 

It’s beyond the hardness in his eyes, or the complete lack of feeling when that hardness slips just a little.

All of those things put Hugh on his guard, but one thing overshadows it all.

Gabriel Lorca expects, _forces_ Paul to hurt himself without any sincere regret or - as far as Hugh can tell - hesitation, no matter the concerned act he puts on.

Hugh Culber is above all an understanding, kind man. 

And he hates Gabriel Lorca.


	16. Sweetness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're moving into M territory here.
> 
> Ummm, so this originally started out as a quick comparison of then-vs-now perspectives about how their relationship is different than previous ones with a little bit of suggestive humor. It sort of got out of hand and took a much deeper dive into their vulnerabilities, and I ended up writing a much more serious story than intended.

_The first time_

"You don't have to."

The words break past the quiet sounds of making out and feeling each other up, the wet smack of lips on skin and sighs, the occasional low moan. Hugh pauses with his hand high on Paul's thigh, thumb pressed to his inseam. It's sweet the way Paul is trying to give him an out - enthusiastic consent aside - but completely unnecessary.

"I want to," he murmurs against Paul's neck, licking the pulse. 

"Okay."

His eyes are adorably dazed when Hugh pulls away from his throat and starts teasing the hem of his shirt up. 

"Let's get this off, I want to see you."

His fair skin shows an appealing blush at Hugh's words, and Hugh immediately tosses his own shirt aside as well, to see if it'll make Paul more comfortable. 

"Wow."

Paul winces as soon as he says it, and Hugh can't help the delighted laugh at his appreciative stare. He waits until Paul meets his gaze again, pupils blown wide, then slowly drops to his knees on the floor in front of the sofa and reaches for the button on Paul's trousers.

"Ummm."

Dropping his hands to suddenly tense thighs, he squeezes gently. 

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I'm not used to...in the past. Every time I've-" Paul fidgets, looking down at his hands, "When I umm..."

"Had sex?" Hugh fills in with a small smile. He's not sure why Paul seems so embarrassed; they've both definitely done this before, based on late night comms and increasingly explicit text messages.

"Yes. That. It's just, doing it _with_ someone is different than. By myself."

Hugh raises an eyebrow, bemused. He folds his arms across Paul's knees, resting his chin on them in a less sexually suggestive pose.

"Different, not better?"

"I really like you."

"I really like you too. Or I wouldn't be doing this."

He's had his share of casual encounters, nights with friends that go no further, taking home an attractive stranger even. Hugh's not ashamed of it, and hasn't tried to hide it from Paul, who didn't seem to mind anyway. This feels like it's going to be different. For whatever reason, Paul's wanted to take things slow - not that he's said as much, but Hugh can read his body language and doesn't mind waiting. All of the necking and grinding could feel frustrating, but he's chosen to enjoy the slow burn. 

"I just...ummm, you really don't have to. Like, I'm fine with not."

"Sweetheart, do you not want to?"

"No! I mean, I do want, but I uhhhh..."

For being a brilliant scientist, seeing that he sometimes stumbles with words only makes him more attractive.

"Paul?"

"It's just been more trouble to find someone who's willing to put up with all of this, with me, than to take care of it alone."

It comes out in a rush, and Hugh takes a minute to parse the sentence and consider his reaction. 

"Sorry, put up with all of what?"

Paul blinks at him, apparently not expecting Hugh to pursue that piece of information.

"You know. Me. My complete lack of social skills, the fact that I love my work more than anything else, the way I can't stand people pretending to be smart or lying about stuff. People don't," he sighs, and Hugh's heart squeezes at the sadness in it, "people don't think it's worth it."

"Okay...leaving aside the part where I completely disagree with the concept that your qualities are somehow _bad,_ which part of me wanting to suck you off brought this on?"

He's not usually quite that blunt when it comes to bedroom talk, but he's learned that Paul doesn't appreciate euphemisms (too juvenile) or trying to talk around things.

"Because I really, _really_ like you, Hugh. And I don't want to have to give all of this up. The non-sex part."

This is a deeper conversation that he expected. Hugh pulls himself back up onto the sofa, because it's the kind of talk that probably will be better had without him on his knees. He twines their fingers together, relieved when Paul squeezes back.

"Why would you have to give this up?"

It's difficult to tell in the low lighting, but he thinks Paul's eyes look a little red. He swallows a few times, staring blankly at the wall, before turning back.

"Because it never lasts."

"I...I don't think I follow."

"It like this. I meet someone, go on a few dates, we seem compatible. We have sex, it's great until I get too attached. Then they leave. They always leave."

Paul's voice grows tighter with every sentence, and Hugh has to lean in to hear the last part. 

"I want you, Hugh. All of you, and we haven't even had sex yet. I've never...felt like this about someone before. And I don't want you to leave."

_Oh sweetheart._

Very gently, he presses a kiss to Paul's lips.

"First, you need to give me more credit than that," Hugh keeps his tone mild, setting aside the anger at whatever someone(s) made Paul feel this way, "second, I like to think we rate a little higher together than 'compatible'. Third," he continues when it looks like Paul is about to interrupt him, "this feels right, doesn't it? I- I want you to get too attached to me, Paul. Because I'm already that way, for you."

Paul bites his lip, fighting down an expression that looks a little too much like hope, and Hugh's heart climbs into his throat.

"I want you in every way possible, and yes, that includes sexually. I would love a chance to learn your body. But I'm not going to change my mind about wanting a relationship, either way."

There. Neither of them have used the word 'relationship' yet, but what else could they call spending every free evening on the comm together, trying to get to know each other despite the fact that neither of them knows how long they'll be stationed on the same world, let alone the same sector? Or the fact that they've been on a dozen dates and have yet to make it past increasingly passionate kissing and heavy petting? 

"You...you want a relationship?"

"I do."

"Even though I'm-"

Hugh cuts him off before he can finish the sentence with something self-deprecating.

"Brilliant? A cutting edge scientist? More interesting than anyone else I've met? Someone I can see myself with years from now? So hot that I sometimes can't think after we say goodnight because I'm about to come in my pants?"

Okay, maybe Hugh didn't need to get that honest, because Paul's gone a shade of red so deep that he's starting to worry about his capillaries. 

"Fuck."

"Ideally, yes."

"I...can have you."

"Yes."

"You won't leave?"

"Not planning on it."

"Ummm. Wow," Paul drags a hand through his hair, "I...feel really stupid."

Hugh briefly considers making a comment about the universe ending because Paul Stamets called himself stupid, but ultimately decides against it.

"You'll tell me if you ever...change your mind?"

"I can't promise to always be at my best, or that we won't disagree or argue along the way. But what I can promise, Paul, is that I will _always_ be honest with you." 

"Me too."

He nuzzles their faces together, feeling Paul smile against his cheek.

"Hugh?"

"Yes?"

"Ummm. Is that offer of a blowjob still open?"

Hugh throws his head back and laughs his relief, his lust, and what could in a very short time become love. He slides back down to the floor, and this time when he looks up, there's no hesitation. Licking his lips, he settles more comfortably on his heels and pushes Paul's knees apart. 

It's going to be a good night.

********

_Later_

"I was afraid the first time, you know."

They're lying in bed together, legs tangled and sharing a pillow. Paul's at the tipping point between consciousness and the pull of sleep, content and warm with Hugh's arms around him. The last of the bottle of champagne they shared is on the nightstand, and the alcohol and orgasm have his brain floating pleasantly.

"Of what?"

"I...you know how I like to make you feel good?"

"Mmmhmmm," Paul hums, "and you're _very_ good at it."

"I was afraid, because I liked you so much, that you would turn out to be like the guys I'd been with before."

"How's that?"

"Paul, I like to- I love to give. To figure out exactly what someone wants and give it to them, because I care. And they didn't, at least as far as I could tell, usually didn't bother to do the same for me. Not the way I did."

After this long, he's relatively sure that Hugh's not about to deliver a criticism, but it doesn't hurt to check.

"I hope I didn't disappoint."

"No, it was a good night," Hugh's smile is small but genuine, "other than your neighbors banging on the wall."

Paul shifts against the sheets, burrowing deeper under the covers as the sweat starts to dry. Since they're in the mood for confessions...

"You know, when you said to me, 'I'm going to make it so good for you', no one had ever told me that before."

"You know my opinion on everyone else."

"Yeah."

He lets Hugh rearrange them until Paul's head is pillowed on his shoulder, snuggling close to soak up his warmth.

"Hugh?"

"Hmmm?"

"What made you think about it? Right now, I mean."

"Just realizing how lucky I am."

"That makes two of us."

A hand slips up his arm, coming to rest at the base of his neck and scratching gently.

"Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too. Happy anniversary."


	17. Schedule

"Why did we sign up for this?"

Paul's voice is muffled, face-first in Hugh's pillow. He's gotten as far undressing as kicking his boots off, jacket still on one arm, and trousers pushed down to mid-thigh. Hugh would find the sight sexier if he wasn't also bone-tired. 

"I'm guessing that's a rhetorical question," he murmurs, stripping down to his underwear. There's not enough energy left in him to even bother with pajamas, so he shuffles over to the bed and pokes Paul in the side.

"Owwww."

"Move over."

"Why?"

"You're on my side."

Paul twitches, but otherwise gives no sign of movement. Sighing, Hugh musters up enough energy to roll his partner over, tugging his jacket the rest of the way off as he goes. His teeth feel filmy - the product of sixteen hours on shift - but skipping one night of brushing isn't going to result in lasting harm.

"Mmmmmphhh."

Hugh smiles a little at Paul's grumpy noise as his weight shifts the mattress.

"Should take your pants off, love."

Paul peels one eye open, and Hugh can see the wheels in his brain turning.

"Too tired for sex."

"You know what I mean. You really think either of us could get it up right now?"

He has to wait for an answer, because Paul is squirming, eventually working his pants off the rest of the way and kicking them to the edge of the bed. Close enough.

"No."

Hugh sighs again.

"I do miss you. S'been a week?"

"Since w- oh. Huh. Y'sure?"

He reels Paul in, settling him with his head on Hugh's shoulder, arm draped over his chest. 

"Monday, we got off shift early," he can feel Paul smiling at the memory, "and you know the rest. Then the nebula incident, half the crew going down with Vulcan measles, food poisoning at Zz'azzt's promotion celebration, and the input matrix meltdown? Pretty sure that covers the week."

"Nuh uhh."

"What?"

"Thursday morning. I blew you in the shower."

"Oh. Right."

"Nice to know I give un-memorable head."

Rolling his eyes seems like too much work right now, so he settles for poking Paul's shoulder.

"I was barely awake, you were propping me up."

"True."

Paul snuffles into the side of his neck, and Hugh has to admit it does feel nice. 

"When's th'next time our shifts line up?"

"Are we..._ scheduling_ sex?"

"Considering-" he yawns hugely, "considering this week, spontaneity is pretty limited."

"Ugh. '0800, recalibrate the spore drive manifolds. 0900, coffee break with Tilly. 0930, explain to another batch of idiot cadets that there's a difference between a plasma coupler and phase wrench. 1400, drag my partner into the supply closet in Medical and-' "

"We can't use the supply room this week."

"What? Why not?"

Paul sounds marginally more awake, if only to be annoyed.

"Nurse Page and Ensign Stalwell just started seeing each other."

"So?"

"Page works the same shift as me."

"Oh. Huh? Ohhhhhh."

"Anyway," Hugh pulls the covers over them, "we'll figure it out later, love. Need to sleep."

"That an order, Doctor Culber?"

"No, it's just a biological imperative."

"I love when you talk science to me."

He tucks Paul's head under his chin and stifles another yawn.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

" 'night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a bunch of snippets of humorous things derailing them from having sex, but this came through as a more intimate (as in, quiet) conversation. Would you still be interested in me following through with the other snippets? Thinking of falling asleep during, Paul getting called to Engineering, Hugh having to deal with something medical, Tilly interrupting, etc.


	18. Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy, tooth-achingly sweet snapshot. I regret nothing.

They’re lying in bed, right at the liminal space between awake and asleep, when Hugh hears it. 

At first he writes it off as engine noise, the sighs and barely-there whir of a ship traveling at warp. 

He’s distracted by the way Paul’s rubbing a slightly rough cheek against his chest, the tickle of fingers tracing random patterns across his stomach. There’s barely room for a breath of space between them; a sleepy Paul is a cuddly Paul, all four of his limbs wrapped around some part of Hugh, and he can’t find any reason to complain. The air of quiet intimacy blankets them in warmth, no sexual hunger tonight - and they do have a very healthy sex life - despite the way Paul presses soft against Hugh’s hip.

Hugh gently scratches up his partner’s back, feeling Paul arch against him in response when his fingers move to tangle in his hair. He shifts his bundle of drowsy scientist, and that’s when he realizes-

“Love, are you...purring?”

It’s not precisely the correct description for the low, barely audible hum, but it’s close enough.

”...what?”

”You really have no idea?”

Paul raises his head and turns enough to look Hugh in the eyes. He’s adorably rumpled, hair sticking up in all directions and blinking slowly.

”I don’t know what I have no idea about, but-“ he’s interrupted by a jaw-splitting yawn, “can we talk about it in the morning?”

“Sure.”

Nodding, Paul plants a sleep-clumsy kiss onto waiting lips and squirms until he can drop his head onto Hugh’s shoulder. He’s asleep less than a minute later, and Hugh smiles at the soft noises of contentment.

“Sweet dreams, love.”


	19. Still

“Perhaps he needs distance from you not because he no longer has feelings for you, but because he no longer knows how to feel about himself.”

Spock’s words fall softly into the air of Engineering, quiet but so full of weight that Paul can’t breathe for a few seconds. The crushing pain in his chest feels like tearing the fragile bandage of work and false indifference off his heart, leaving it exposed and raw. 

The distance leaves him drowning in loneliness, permanently off balance, but he can’t imagine how Hugh feels. 

Maybe it’s not for him _to_ understand.

He can’t bear the gentle compassion in Spock’s eyes and turns back to the spore console, briefly gripping the edges as a wave of dizziness sweeps upwards. Underneath the seeming bottomless well of loss and grief though, there’s a tiny spark of hope.

_”And I knew everything about you in that moment.”_

Maybe when (his brain refuses to think _if_) Hugh is ready, he’ll know himself again too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s expressions in this scene are heartbreaking.


	20. Strained

“Ummm...you- you _do_ know that he’s gay, right?”

Even though she’s overtly eyeing him from hairline to crotch, Georgiou’s expression is strangely less predatory and more amused as she stands well within his personal space, so close that the tips of her boots tag his insoles.

For a moment after Hugh speaks, it’s as if nothing has changed. He's struck with a memory of Hugh cutting in between him and a female ‘fleet officer trying unsuccessfully to flirt with Paul at a reception, injecting just enough sarcasm that they can all laugh it off.

Except, that evening ended with taking Hugh home to enjoy the pleasurable effects of his possessive instincts being roused. And if he woke the next morning sore and covered in love bites, well...

Paul loses the ability to speak as Georgiou outlines a disturbingly intimate - well, _relationship_ is probably not a word Terrans use - situation that he can’t imagine ever being party to, if only because the thought of being naked in the same room as the Emperor is terrifying.

”Did you just call me papi?”

He swallows hard, heat blooming in his lips at the sound of Hugh’s voice caressing the last word. 

”Well in my universe, and pretty much any universe I can _possibly_ imagine, I’m gay. And so is he.”

That didn't sound defensive and wistful at all, right?

The look and tiny nod that he and Hugh exchange is both awkward and familiar. 

_Fuck._

As the doors swish shut behind Georgiou, Tilly's eyes are huge and panicked.

”What just happened?!?”

That’s a very good question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I choked on my water the first time I saw this scene. I’m completely Tilly now, every time I watch it again :P


	21. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder how Paul kept Hugh safe in the later time loops?

“_Oh...we’re playing this tonight?”_

Hugh’s words, teasing with a hint of darker desire, replay in a loop (pun not intended) in Paul’s head. He’s left his partner - for the fifteenth time - in their quarters, spread out on their bed, wrists bound to the headboard. Every time is a struggle to leave, not least because Hugh putting himself into Paul’s hands never fails to leave him breathless.

Gentle, trusting Hugh assumes Paul is coming back after a few minutes, assumes it’s a game of heightened anticipation. And when Paul doesn’t return in the promised ten minutes, he’ll wait another five because that’s the kind of understanding lover he is, and then spend seven minutes working his way out of the elaborate twist of cord restraining him. He won't use the single-word command to undo the knots immediately, because he'll wonder if Paul is supposed to come back and find him struggling. By that point, he’ll be annoyed and frustrated, and Hugh always waits until he can speak calmly before comming Paul when he’s (justifiably) put out, so the waiting will wind down the last few minutes until the loop resets itself again.

As difficult as it is, the worst part isn’t leaving Hugh, it’s not being with him when the Discovery explodes. On the twelfth loop, Paul gave up trying to talk sense into Lorca and returned to their quarters just as the ship began to shake. Seeing Hugh’s eyes full of fear as the air dissolved into flames around them is too much to bear, and he can’t do it again.

Squaring his shoulders, he sets off for the party at a fast jog. Coaxing Hugh to bed and tying him up takes less than five minutes, and he has to make the most of the next twenty five. 

If only he can find a way to make Burnham trust him faster...

********

”...love, where are you-“

”I’ll be back, Hugh, I promise!”

********

“Can I tie you up tonight? I- I need you to stay put.”

”Mmmm, that kind of mood? Kiss me first, and yes.”

********

“I told him to stifle it or sit somewhere else. Instead, he sat right next to me, and he’s been there ever since.”

********

”You’ve never been in love.”

********  
When he’s finally saved the ship, the only thing Paul wants to do is collapse and sleep for a day. Possibly two.

He trudges down the corridor to their quarters, having received no response to his text comm. Granted, ”_Sorry Hugh, I had to leave you like that to stop Mudd. Time loop. Check with Tilly if you need. Will explain when I get there”, _isn't exactly endearing.

Forty seven times (after the first few loops when Paul tried to explain what was going on to Hugh and only ended up being dragged down to the medbay), and every time Hugh happily and willingly let Paul tie his hands to the headboard, rolled his eyes in indulgent frustration when he announced he had to pick up a report from Tilly and he’d be right back. Every time, Paul told himself it was the best way to keep Hugh safe, and every time he hated the deception. He wasn’t lying to Michael about honesty being a bedrock of their relationship, and even though it might objectively be justified, he still feels awful.

The doors snick open, and he steps inside warily. 

“-thanks Tilly. He’s here now, it’s okay.”

Hugh’s sitting on the edge of the bed and finishes his conversation with Tilly in short order. He’s put on a pair of pajama pants, which Paul is grateful for - not just because they cover up distraction, but because the lack of a shirt means Hugh isn’t angry. For whatever reason, his partner can’t argue naked. It serves as a sign that things are going south when Hugh _does_ get dressed, and so he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

”Hi honey.”

”I’m sorry?” 

It’s not meant to be a question, but he can’t help the upward lilt.

Setting down the comm, Hugh crosses the room and gently pulls Paul into an embrace. He goes willingly, resting a hand on the swell of a pectoral just to feel the steady heartbeat underneath.

“I should have told you.”

Hugh steps back just enough to make eye contact, hands sliding down to his waist.

”No, you shouldn’t have. Philosophically, yes, but practically? You know I wouldn’t have believed you. And I’m sorry for that, Paul.”

He starts at that. Hugh doesn’t use his name often in private, mostly for emphasis or to convey that Paul’s done something thoughtless. 

“I didn’t exactly tell you I was going to inject myself with alien DNA, you had a right to think it wasn’t real.”

Hugh shakes his head, but doesn’t argue, letting Paul bury his face in the curve of neck and shoulder.

”I- okay. Tilly told me you said we’d done this, fifty six times?”

”Yeah,” Paul mutters into warm skin, “it’s been a fucked up day.”

He sways on his feet when Hugh pulls away to lead him towards the bed, feeling a hand wrap around his upper arm to steady him on the way.

”You’ve been doing this for twenty eight hours, then. I think you’ve earned some rest.”

Hugh eases him down onto the sheets, gently stripping away his uniform and lowering the lights. 

“Stay?”

”I wasn’t planning to go anywhere, love.”

Smiling, he rounds the bed and settles in next to Paul who immediately pulls him close.

”Sweetheart?”

”I need to hold you.” He hates that his voice is wavering, but he doesn’t have the control left to keep it level. “I lost you so many times today, I just...just need to know you’re safe.”

”Shhh, I’m right here. And I’m proud of you.”

”For what?” he mumbles from the vicinity of Hugh’s sternum, “Took me forever to figure it all out.”

A warm hand curves around the back of his neck, fingers running through his hair, and Paul relaxes into it. 

”You saved the ship. And Lorca,” Hugh’s tone is only half playful, “even though I’m not convinced he deserves it.”

”Don’t care ‘bout him. Couldn’t let you n’Tilly n’all get hurt.”

Paul’s losing the battle with consciousness, the steady rise and fall of Hugh’s chest lulling him towards slumber.

”You big softie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

”....hmmmm.”

He feels a kiss pressed to his forehead, and falls asleep with a smile on his lips.


	22. Sundered

“This isn’t the time. It might never be the time.”

The words he’s half-formed die on his lips, apologies and explanations caught in his throat. Dead and resurrected or not, together or apart, he knows that look.

Paul Stamets is terrified.

They’re on a mission to save all living things, so it’s justifiable, but this is different. It’s not the steely determination over fear that he saw before Paul stepped into the spore cube to make one hundred and thirty three impossible jumps, the fate of the Federation at stake. That was scared but resolute. This...

Hugh swallows hard and looks away.

They've loved and lost and argued for years, but even at their low points, Paul has never been _scared_ _of_ Hugh.

His drive to protect Paul flares up, the instinctive need to shield him from harm bitter in his mouth because this time, Hugh’s the one hurting him.

The fragile sort of courage from Admiral Cornwell’s calm understanding deserts him, and it’s all he can do to focus on what needs to be done. Inside though, even as his hands work and his mouth relays readings, he can’t stop thinking.

This is his fault. 

_Dear gods, what has he done?_


	23. Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse under the covers.

Hugh shifts against the pillows, stylus tapping over a set of patient charts on his PADD. It’s warm and cozy, but he’s having trouble concentrating enough to finish his annotations.

”Sweetheart?”

The covers rustle and Hugh tosses the sheet back to reveal a very mussed blond head busy between his thighs. He drops a hand down, gripping Paul’s hair and tugging up gently. 

Paul pulls his mouth away from the series of love bites he’s spent the last several minutes slowly working up the length of both legs.

”Kind of busy trying to start something here, Hugh.”

“Would you quit-“ he draws in a sudden breath, “-quit trying to distract me?”

Hugh’s resolve is weakening, and he knows Paul can see it. With a wicked smile, Paul licks up the cut of his V-line, swirling his tongue around the crest of hipbone beneath his chin.

“No.”

”Can I at least finish these?”

Huffing out an exaggerated sigh, he rolls his eyes and pouts.

”Isn’t that my line? Since when are you insisting on doing work in bed when I’m trying to go down- Hey!”

The last word is muffled as Hugh pulls the covers back up over Paul’s head. 

“You’re very distracting love, but you’ll just have to wait.”

”Is that a challenge?”

Clever fingers start trailing down his stomach, heading lower.

”It’s a statement.”

Paul raises the bed linens enough to give him a determined glower that’s ruined by his wide-blown pupils.

“We’ll see about that.”

The sheets snap back into place. Unseen by the man between his legs, Hugh smiles up at the ceiling. 

He’s not actually planning on continuing to work, but Paul doesn’t need to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t resist writing playful Paul. I imagine these two bickering affectionately even in the middle of...intimate activities.


	24. Suffer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for this one. I had a vivid vision of Paul crying into Hugh’s shirt and couldn’t not tell it.

After they’ve made it back from the Mirror Universe and Starfleet (or what’s left of it) is convinced their time travel is real, Paul slips out of the medbay and goes home. He’s supposed to be under observation, but Doctor Pollard is distracted with a set of nasty burns from an EPS conduit overload and the beep alerting them of a patient leaving the range of the biobed is lost under the cacophony.

Paul’s managed this long by resolutely not thinking about Hugh not being there to greet him when the doors slide shut behind him. The adrenaline of battle and danger kept him laser focused on his duty, and he was able to pretend Hugh was busy in surgery or on opposite shift, something to keep him away.

In their quarters, the facade crumbles.

Everything is so _normal_ that he can’t stand it. The bed is unmade, Paul’s pajamas neatly folded on his pillow and Hugh’s haphazardly strewn over the sheets. There’s a half-finished mug of tea on the nightstand, a container of hair product open on the bathroom counter, and towels on the floor in front of the shower.

He sinks to his knees in the middle of the floor, unable to reconcile being surrounded by their things but knowing there is no more them. It could be a few seconds, or it could be hours before the numbness swings to anger.

How could he take his love away from Paul, abandon him to keep on living? 

How could he go without giving Paul a chance to tell him how much he loves him and how everything good in the universe doesn’t matter if he has to face it alone?

How dare Hugh promise him the rest of their lives together and then _leave him_? 

Suddenly furious, he snatches the abandoned clothes off the bed, ripping the sheet free and storming across the room. Moments later, he has the whole bundle shoved into the synthesizer, hand hovering over the reclamation command, ready to rid himself of the things that won’t stop reminding him of what he’s lost. The rush has him dizzy, and he pulls in a ragged breath.

It’s a mistake.

He can smell wood and spice and Hugh’s cologne, and just like that the anger vanishes, leaving behind hollow desolation in its place. 

Hugh is gone, and Paul was about to destroy the last things he touched.

It starts as a tiny shiver, hands trembling, as he stumbles back to the bed and collapses onto the mattress. Curled around the precious armful of fabric, an anguished howl rips itself from his chest before melting into gut-wrenching sobs. 

They seem to go on for an eternity, no end to the well of loss. He’s shaking violently, the warm room unable to touch the core of cold within. Eventually, his body can’t handle the stress any longer and he falls into a fitful sleep, face buried in Hugh’s shirt. 

He dreams of strong arms around him, gentle hands wiping his tears, soft eyes filled with concern. When he wakes to a hand rubbing his shoulder, that familiar and beloved scent all around him, his first impulse is relief that it’s all been a horrible nightmare. 

“Oh god Hugh, I-“

His eyes are swollen and blurry, but there’s no mistaking the halo of fiery red curls or the deep empathy and sadness on Tilly’s face where she’s perched on the side of the bed.

”I’m so sorry,” she whispers, throat as raw-sounding as he feels.

Paul closes his eyes against her compassion. There’s no point to opening them again.


	25. Substitute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately post-Will You Take My Hand? Paul isn’t feeling much of anything at all, but Tilly’s determined to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introspection and an extremely awkward encounter.

This is a terrible idea.

He doesn’t need the voice of conscience or reason or whatever to tell him that.

********

Discovery’s crew is finally back on Earth, Klingon war ended. There are commendations all around, and promotions. Paul’s getting a medal and a new pip, as if that could make up for all of his los-

Yeah.

Michael gives a rousing speech, one that he thinks he would feel in his stomach if emotion wasn’t something he’s currently closed off from. It turns out that shutting out grief and pain means he can’t really feel anything else either. There’s a gentle wave of pride at her words, a brush of affection at Tilly’s brand new commission, and that will have to be enough. 

The medal in his hands is heavy, fingers caressing the edge and black ribbon until the cold metal warms against his skin. It’s heavy, the weight of things he no longer-

After the applause and closing, he’s planning to slip away before the reception. Too many unfamiliar people for him to be comfortable, not without someone at his side who smiles and charms and-

Tilly enters his field of view, her hand gentle on his elbow.

”Sir?”

”Yes?”

”Are- are you coming with us? I mean, the reception. To the reception. I know it’s probably not something you, uhhh, like, but maybe...ummm. Maybe they’ll have good food? Like those little cheese puff things, and maybe some Vulcan wafers, and yeah. That. Please?”

It’s the _please_ that does it. After everything, Tilly’s relentless enthusiasm sparks just a little bit of humor, and if it’ll make her happy, Paul can at least stay long enough to satisfy her.

”Okay.”

”Really? You mean I don’t get to use my whole seven point argument about social interaction and-“

He shakes his head, conjuring up a smile that tugs on his lips in ways he’s nearly forgotten.

”Let’s go see if they have brie en croute.”

********

The reception is just as loud and colorful as he feared, full of the who’s who of the Federation and more brass than he’s seen outside an Academy graduation. 

To Tilly’s delight, they do indeed have savory bites of cheese in puff pastry, along with delicacies from a dozen worlds. He follows along at her elbow, pointing out dignitaries and making introductions like a good mentor. Thankfully he doesn’t have to say much, letting her ability to talk a light year a minute fill the air. 

He nods at acquaintances, summoning a suitably grateful expression whenever someone approaches him with their condolences. Tilly doesn’t let him slip away, despite her wide-eyed awe at speaking with Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda. Accepting the solemn “I grieve with thee” is almost enough to send him running, but he remembers his manners and accepts it as gracefully as possible. (The Ambassador’s eyes are understanding, and he vaguely hears Tilly’s gasp when she realizes Sarek is using the phrase in the mode of condolence for a grieving spouse.)

Hugh would be proud.

Eventually, the reception winds down and he leaves Tilly in Michael’s responsible charge before heading to the temporary ‘fleet housing block. Paul turns down a half dozen offers to provide transport, and three times that many invitations for a drink in Hugh’s honor. The medal is heavier in his pocket than the one pinned to his uniform, and all he really wants to do is close the door against the world and try to sleep.

********

He lets Tilly and Rhys drag him and a very reticent Michael out to a club when they’re back on Earth for a refueling stop a few months later, nursing a drink while watching Tilly try to get Michael to dance. Rhys is companionably silent beside him, fetching new drinks and providing a barrier against anyone who recognizes them and thinks it might be a good idea to approach. Paul is grateful for his presence, even if his association as Hugh’s regular sparring partner is never far from his mind.

Rhys has deftly turned away three women, two persons of indistinguishable species and gender identity, and at least five men from their table by the time it hits midnight. Despite the sincerity of remaining there the whole night, Paul can tell he wants to be out on the floor with the others, and gently shoos him on.

He gets up to find the restroom, ducking down neon-lit hallways. When he’s leaving the mercifully clean facilities, a touch on his shoulder makes him freeze.

”Looking for someone?”

The speaker emerges from the shadows, a young man who looks barely out of the Academy, if that. He’s wearing what could best be described as an invitation for the dirtiest kind of dancing imaginable, jeans so tight they might as well be painted on and a filmy mesh shirt that clings to every plane of his torso. As he steps into the light, the hint of smoky eyeliner makes Paul’s chest constrict, a memory of a very different man wearing the same invading his thoughts.

”No, just here with friends.”

The man steps into Paul’s personal space, head tilted to the side, expression gone from inviting to understanding.

”Here to forget something?”

At first he’s about to brush the stranger off with a rude comment about the obvious, but it occurs to him that it might not be what it seems. He’s not wearing his uniform, and it’s completely possible that this man doesn’t know who he is, in which case the question is sincere rather than leading.

”Something like that.”

”Let me help?”

He’s had just enough to drink that he’s still well on this side of being able to give consent, but far enough along that he can silence the internal disagreement. The man doesn’t set off any alarm bells, and what could it hurt to maybe lose himself for a little while?

It could hurt a lot, but fuck, so does everything else. And it might be nice to feel something other than numbness.

”Sure.”

He lets himself be pulled to a darker corner, guided to lean back on the wall. His companion is tall and slim, dark blond hair and porcelain skin as much a contrast as possible to-

Anyway.

Lips touch his, and he realizes that it would probably be polite to kiss back. It’s an exceedingly skillful kiss, and objectively probably highly arousing. He should be physically enjoying this, but all he can think of is that the lips are too thin, no rasp of beard against his skin or gentle nibbles on his bottom lip.

He pushes that thought aside, and apparently whatever his mouth is doing on automatic is enough because it evokes a moan and roll of the man’s hips. The kiss goes on for several minutes, hot and wet, and it’s not _bad_ but it’s not doing a whole lot for him either.

The heat of another body against his does feel nice, but it lacks the solid muscle and confident strength that makes his knees go weak. Paul’s considering how to communicate this when a thigh insinuates itself between his own and there’s the sudden press of rigid flesh against his hip.

”You’re so hot, oh my god...”

Hmmmm.

It had seemed like a good idea (who was he kidding? It’s a terrible idea), but now is definitely the time to call a halt to the proceedings. Unfortunately, all of the rubbing up against him seems to have brought his companion into contact with Paul’s decidedly not interested crotch, and the man freezes immediately.

”Uhhh-“

”Fuck.”

There’s abruptly a good six inches between their bodies before Paul can even blink. He opens his mouth, but the other man beats him to it.

”I’m so sorry.” 

That’s not what Paul was expecting to hear, and he blinks in surprise. 

“...what?”

”You- I mean. You don’t want this.”

It’s said with such a lack of accusation that Paul would be a complete ass if he took offense.

“Look. Ummm. Errr, it’s nothing about you, just...you don’t need to apologize.”

“Still. Can I get you a drink?”

Paul shakes his head.

”It’s appreciated, but I should probably just get back to my friends.”

He receives a lopsided smile in return.

“Whoever you’re missing, I hope it works out.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so he gives the man a tight smile and turns back to the dance floor. Tilly nearly jumps on him when he gets to their table, drunken hug oddly comforting. 

He stays another hour, listening to Tilly try to explain levels of hotness to Michael with Rhys occasionally chiming in. It’s...nice, he supposes. Better than being alone. 

Still.

There’s no substitute for Hugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the attractive stranger (trope, I know) has 23rd century manners and actually backs off as soon as he thinks his partner might not be interested. Imagine living in a world where that’s the norm.
> 
> I went back and forth about Paul even considering messing around with someone else, and tried to present it in a way that’s not disrespectful to his obvious mourning. Let me know if it seems out of character?


	26. Snug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-only fluff.

“Sweetheart?”

”...hmmm?”

”I’m thirsty.”

”Okay.”

”Really thirsty.”

”All right.”

”...I can’t reach my water unless you move.”

”Oh.”

”Paul.”

”What?”

”My ass is not a pillow.”

”Sure it is. Comfortable too. And attached to the hottest guy I know.”

”Flattery gets you nowhere.”

”-hey! Come back!”

”Ten seconds, babe.”

”One, two, three, four, fi- mmmmmppphhhh.”

”See? Behaving gets you things.”

“Sounds like too much work.”

”Why do I put up with this?”

”Because you love me?”

”There is that.”

”Do I have to behave for cuddles?”

”No, because I know you won’t. Scoot over, babe.”

”Mmmmmm. Much better.”

”Comfy?”

”Mmmhmm.”

”Computer, lights off.”

”Hugh?”

”Hmmm?”

”I’m thirsty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shallow, but OMG Hugh does have a lovely backside that I think Paul would love to lay on. Or I'm projecting. Both, maybe?


	27. Shirtless, Part 1

_Beep._

_Beep. Beep._

"...sweetheart?"

_Beep._

"Paul?"

"....mwuhhh?"

"Your comm."

"Muhh. Oh. Right. Tilly said she'd bring the report on the spore drive modifications to me as soon as it was done."

"It's 0351."

"She's working gamma tonight."

"Not the point."

"Sorry. You can go back to sleep, I'll just get it from her and-"

"No."

"No?"

"You can't answer the door."

"Why not?"

"...love, you're still naked."

"Oh. Huh."

_Chime_.

"I'll get it."

"Hugh, you don't-"

_Swish._

"Hello Cadet."

"...Doctor Culber? Ummm, this is Lieutenant Stamets' quarters, right?"

"Yes, although since he sleeps in the cultivation bay half the week I might ask Saru to reassign him there."

"Sorry sir. Uhhh. I have this report? I mean, I have a report. For the Lieutenant. And ohmygod you're shirt-"

_Rustle rustle._

"Tilly! Thanks for the report. Hugh, bring it over here."

"What? Oh. Right! Leaving. Me. Now. Goodnight...sirs."

"Night Cadet."

_Swish._

"Hugh."

"Yes love?"

"Could you maybe have put some pants on first?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this the start of my apology for the hell I've been putting these two babies through.


	28. Shirtless, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after Tilly drops off the report in the previous chapter, before she realizes they're a couple.

"Night Cadet."

_Swish._

"Ohmygod, ohmygod..." Tilly mutters as she heads back towards the turbolift.

The doors swish shut behind her, and she automatically calls for Engineering before pausing the 'lift. No way is she walking back into public until she can function without visions of a very shirtless Doctor Culber intruding.

And oh, stars...everyone could see that the doctor had an impressive physique, and she'd heard more than one comment in passing on how well he filled out his medical whites. He wasn't her type at all, but she could see the appeal. Sort of.

Interestingly, Lieutenant Stamets never seemed to be anything other than neutral or slightly annoyed whenever Doctor Culber had to stop by Engineering, either to check up on Stamets after a spore jump or sequestering him in a private lab for what Tilly could only assume was a continued conversation about the safety of what he was doing. Stamets always seemed a bit off-kilter after those visits, face flushed and eyes distant, and Tilly hoped that he was actually taking the doctor's advice.

In any case, he was the last person (okay, maybe Captain Lorca would fill that spot, or possibly Michael) she expected to find in Stamets' quarters, much less in that state of undress. Stamets hadn't seemed upset at her appearance with the report, calling Doctor Culber by his first name in an offhand manner. Of course, if he wasn't wearing a shirt or pants, that would imply they knew each other well enough to be on a first name basis, and OH GOD Sylvia, don't go there...

Right. Enough time wasted.

She resumes the lift, keeping her head down until she's back at her station. Tonight's meant to be a routine set of diagnostics, along with purging the drive systems with inert gas. Those are both things she can do without concentrating too hard, and she lets her mind wander while her fingers are busy with the controls.

So. Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber. Maybe the tension between them over the spore drive finally snapped? 

Considering the situation uses up the rest of her shift. She tries to be quiet heading back into her quarters, but Michael is already awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed reading on a PADD.

"Tilly, is everything okay?"

"What? Uhhh, sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You look preoccupied."

"Oh. Ummm. So. Lieutenant Stamets asked me to deliver a report to him."

Michael raises an eyebrow as Tilly unzips her uniform jacket and tosses it over a chair.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable."

"That's not the problem."

She waits until she receives a nod from Michael before continuing.

"So I brought it to his quarters, and ummm I thought it was kind of weird that he'd want it in the middle of the night, but you know how he gets about the spore drive and I thought about waiting till 0600, but then I didn't want him to think I was slow or forgot, and then-"

"Breathe Tilly," Michael's wearing a tiny smile that Tilly has classified as 'Bemused Face #4', "so Stamets wanted a report and you brought it to him."

"Yeah. I commed him before, but he didn't answer, so I figured maybe he wouldn't even wake up for it, but anyway. Ummm. So-" she frowns, "what do you think of Doctor Culber?"

Michael's expression shifts to 'I Don't Know How That's Relevant But I'll Entertain The Notion'.

"He's a very competent medical officer, and seems to be highly intelligent. The crew appear to value his contributions."

"Nooooo, I mean what do you _think."_

Apparently her vague gesturing to encompass her torso doesn't translate into Michael-speak.

"Of?"

"Doctor Culber is really, ummm, built. You know."

"How is this relevant?"

"Sooooooo, I rang Stamets' quarters, and Doctor Culber answered, and ohmygod Michael, he was...he answered."

'Bemused Face #4' is back.

"I mean, I thought Stamets would answer or maybe not and then I'd just send him the report, but Doctor Culber was there and he just...he just- wow. Yeah. He was- he was only wearing underwear, and- and...ohmygod Michael, I didn't even know you could have that many abs, and Stamets didn't seem upset that he answered, but I don't even know what that means, because Doctor Culber is always in Engineering and I thought he and Stamets didn't get along and Imsoconfusedrightnowbecausehewasalmostnaked-"

"Tilly."

"-and I wasn't trying to stare, but I couldn't help it, it was all just _there_, and Stamets didn't have a shirt on either and I didn't need to see that ever because he's like filling in the role of parental approval and that sounds way weirder out loud-"

"Tilly!"

"...sorry."

Michael grabs her PADD and types in a query before turning it to face her. She's puzzled - why would Michael have called up the directory listings for the crew manifest?

"I don't get it?"

"Look at who's assigned to G-4 on Deck Nine."

_9-Gamma-4/double: Stamets, Paul (LT/ENG) & Culber, Hugh (LTCDR/MED)_

"Oh. Wait, what? They...they actually like each other? And they're roommates? I thought Lieutenant and up didn't have to share, that's one of those things you get when your rank is higher?"

"Tilly. How many beds were in the room?"

"...one. Oh. Oh my- wait. They're _together_ together? Like, together?"

Michael reclaims her PADD, smiling gently.

"Looks like we need to add observation skills to the list of things you'll have to master for the Command Training Program."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty minute writing spree, I regret nothing.


	29. Scarlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the theme of Tilly running smack into evidence of Culmets.

"Hmmmm, sorry sir but I'm not getting- hold on...there's a surge in the plasma manifold, I can't control it from here, watch out-"

Tilly gives up trying to stem the overflow and whirls, watching in horror as the conduit sends out a shower of sparks straight into Stamets' face where he's crouched in front of it. He falls back on his heels as the conduit continues to crackle and pop alarmingly, hands coming up to cover his face.

"Oh my god, sir, are you okay? Medical, we need-"

"Belay that."

Stamets' voice is a little shaky, but firm.

"Sir, we need to make sure you're not hurt!"

Tilly drops to her knees on the floor beside him, hands hovering uselessly over his head and shoulders. It's only a few seconds later, but it feels like an eternity as she surveys the scattering of scorch marks on the upper chest of his uniform. Part of the Warp Theory course at the Academy included a section on potential dangers, including the possible hazards when parts of the drive system malfunctioned. Plasma burns and concussive trauma are at the top of the list, and concern gives her the courage to grip Stamets' wrists, gently peeling his hands away from his face.

His skin is flushed and she immediately spots a few angry red burns on his left cheek from the flying sparks. They've completely missed his eyes (thank goodness), but look like they sting.

"Help me up, would you?"

Her hands shake when she moves an arm under his shoulders to support him as he sits up.

"Sir, I really think you ought to get those looked at."

"You think?"

There's wry humor when he opens his eyes, belying the sharpness of his words. Groaning, he pops open his collar, and she focuses on the line of smaller red spots trailing down his neck.

"Should I get the medkit?"

"Nah," he seems remarkably unconcerned, patting at the injuries gingerly, "I've had worse."

He shifts, bringing his knees up and bracing his elbows. The movement causes his collar to gap open a little wider, and she gasps loudly.

"Lieutenant! Oh-"

"What?" Stamets regards her wide-eyed horror, "what is it?"

"Sir, you've got a wound on your neck..."

"No, I don't."

He seems genuinely confused rather than trying to hide anything. 

"It's right here."

Tilly reaches out and peels his collar further down to reveal a large, irregularly shaped purple-red bruise. Stamets runs his fingers down the side of his neck, wincing a little as he touches the burns but otherwise giving no sign of pain. Below the collar, the entire left side of his neck down to the top of his black undershirt is mottled pink with irritated skin. Tilly leans a little closer, and a broken line of scarlet marks curved under the bruise swims into view. They're too regular to have come from the conduit exploding, which means...

"-oh. Ummm. Errr. Nevermind."

Eyebrows rising, Stamets turns to the spore cube, clearly intent on examining his own reflection. When he does, his face rapidly cycles between surprise, glee, and embarrassment before settling on chagrined. He pulls his collar closed again, fighting down the rising blush.

"I'm just going to go to the uhhh, medbay, and have this looked it."

Tilly nods vigorously.

"Right! Good idea sir, ummm, yes. You should. Have that looked at. I'll just- uhhh, I'll clean up in here and make sure the uhhh rest of the drive system is working."

He's halfway to the doors before she's done talking, avoiding eye contact with the two crew members entering with toolkits in hand, summoned by the automatic response to power fluctuations.

The doors close behind him, and Tilly turns her back for a moment before the techs get close enough that she'll have to speak to them. She bites her lip, fighting down the conflicting urges to cringe because _gross, _he's like her parental substitute and no one wants to know that, and the desire to give him a fist bump for a night obviously well spent.

As the techs approach, she settles on the latter, grinning briefly.

"Damn...right on, sir."


	30. Shout

Paul Stamets is many things: brilliant scientist, pre-eminent astromycologist, Kasseelian opera-hater, spore drive operator, lover, friend.

He's taciturn or verbose, depending on the situation, occasionally paradoxically within the same interaction.

He styles his hair immaculately before going on duty, and it's one of Hugh's favorite things on a rare day off where he doesn't apply product at all.

He can't stand the thought of his science being used to wage war, or that it might hurt any living being.

He prefers the right side of the bed, and having the covers neatly tucked in at the foot of the bed before climbing in.

He's in possession of a prickly exterior that he wields like a weapon to hide the fact that he always feels socially awkward and uncomfortable around people he doesn't know.

The list goes on.

One thing Paul most definitely _isn't_, is quiet in bed.

At all.

Hugh discovered this most surprising characteristic their first time together, expecting him to be as reserved as he is in public. Instead, in an intimate setting, all pretense and guard drains away. He's delightfully responsive, arching into touch and keeps up a steady stream of husky murmurs ("More, please." "Yes, like that." "You're so beautiful, Hugh.") As their mutual passion climbs, so does his voice ("You feel so good, yes, just like that." "Don't stop, please, more!" "Oh god, so close, so _close_ Hugh, wanna watch you come, please...!"). 

Hugh is particularly taken by that last exclamation, the breathless entreaty that fills the room already warm with the scent of sweat and sex.

It wasn't just novelty either, over the years he hasn't gotten any quieter. In fact, the more comfortable they became with each other, the less inhibitions came into play. He doesn't seem to have much control over it either, and sometimes it takes Hugh's hand over his mouth to muffle his cries of pleasure so the neighbors don't start banging on the wall, or Tilly bursting in on them in Paul's lab because she thinks her boss is being murdered.

Hugh isn't going to ask, but he's long suspected that as a major reason why Paul insists on no PDA - not because he's embarrassed by stealing a kiss or a caress, but because he wouldn't be able to suppress his reaction. He enjoys the endless stream of sound that begins the moment their kisses turn deeper and ends only when they're lying in the afterglow, feedback affirming that he's able to make his partner feel so good. Unfortunately, it also limits their ability to have discreet...well, _tryst_ doesn't seem appropriate outside of a romance novel. Rendezvous? In any case, it's made it difficult to sneak in a little hanky panky anywhere except their quarters over the years.

Paul Stamets is a bit of a screamer, and Hugh loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to write this, because I'm completely convinced that Paul goes absolutely wild when it's just him and Hugh.


	31. Shaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 80 (“Scent”) which contains Hugh’s perspective from this scene.

“You found me in so many places.”

It comes out far steadier than Paul feels. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, the intensity of emotions he’s feeling right now overwhelming his body.

Hugh.

He swore his heart stopped the moment he saw him crouched in the corridor, shying away from their lights and moaning in fear. Now it’s a lump frozen in his throat, the taste of _hope_ like a crystal clear stream running through a quiet meadow. He aches to draw Hugh into his arms, to touch him and assure them both that this is real.

“...you held out your hand behind you because you knew that I would grab it,” he finds himself saying, “and I did. And I knew everything about you in that moment.”

His voice wavers, nearly breaks, the weight of that memory bursting past his lips. He can still see it, as if it were yesterday - the brightly lit galleries and works of art paling in comparison to Hugh’s smile and the spark of joy in his eyes. Paul dared to hope that day that what he saw wasn’t just for the museum, but for them.

“And I’m here now. And here’s my hand.”

He’s still trembling but he refuses to look away, refuses to take his eyes off the figure crouched in front of him. The hole in his heart feels like dying a little each day, each morning he wakes up alone in their bed, each night he falls asleep wishing for Hugh’s soft breathing beside him. And he can’t bear it if this isn’t real.

With a sob, Hugh lunges forward. When their fingers touch, he sees the room in a flash of vivid color, sees Hugh smiling at him in the bathroom mirror, hears his voice the first time he whispered ‘I love you’ in Paul’s ear when he thought he was asleep.

Paul drops to his knees, wraps his arms around Hugh so tightly that he can feel the tattered remains of once pristine medical whites digging into his palms. His body knows this man, automatically adjusts to fit them together so that not even a breath could pass between them.

Hugh’s skin is warm against his cheek, and in that moment he feels his heart start beating again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be in awe of Anthony’s performance (and Wilson’s) in that scene. His voice conveys so many emotions that I can’t help but experience them along with Paul as he’s laying his love out for Hugh.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the brief shot of Paul’s legs while he’s talking - they’re shaking so hard, but he somehow manages to sound calm.


	32. Shhh, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Hugh get a little busy under the covers while trying not to wake up their shipmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic sex (oh who am I kidding? It wants to be smut but I wouldn’t let it) ahead.

“Shhhh, you have to be quiet sweetheart.”

It’s barely more than a whisper. Paul’s dark, lust-blown eyes stare back at him above the barrier of Hugh’s hand pressed firmly over his mouth. He nods, squirming in a way that telegraphs his impatience, then he’s _licking_ Hugh’s palm. Hugh bites his own lip to stop the noise the action evokes from escaping, tamping it down to a rough hum and hard exhalation through his nose. 

He’s acutely aware of Tilly curled up on the couch, separated only by a partition from their bed. The uneven snores mean she’s still asleep, but he doesn’t want to chance Paul’s inability to stay silent during sex waking her. Not to mention Burnham, Detmer, and Owosekun on the floor between the couch and coffee table looking like nothing so much as a child’s sleepover. 

As far as nights go, this one is a bit bizarre. 

They’d been caught in a pulse of unknown origin that fried half the systems in Discovery, including melting the communications array and forcing the warp core offline. It also knocked out most of the external sensors, and without the ability to produce the excess energy cavitation needed for the spore drive, they can’t jump either. The ship is currently limping towards the nearest starbase on impulse, hopefully within the next week.

In the midst of ensuring that life support was stable and patching up the systems necessary for basic survival, failure of strict environmental controls hardly seemed worthy of mention. It was only when secondary damage reports came in that someone (Burnham) pointed out that trying to augment those systems would only drain the reserve batteries faster. Shutting off all non-essential systems to conserve remaining power was the only logical course of action (Hugh’s not arguing with that), but it resulted in only three decks maintaining some semblance of habitable conditions. 

‘Habitable’ didn’t necessarily translate into ‘comfortable’, ergo, five officers and one cadet squeezed into what normally seems like spacious quarters.

The other four had collectively refused to kick Hugh and Paul out of their own bed, huddling around the tiny emergency heater whirring away on the coffee table. It’s meant to heat a space the size of a standard ‘fleet-issue survival tent and won’t make a significant difference in the frigid air, but he reasons its psychological value is greater. 

He did have to pinch Paul when he opened his mouth to deliver the precise mathematical reasons why it wouldn’t have an effect, setting it firmly on the table with a wry smile. Instead, he and Paul are snuggled close under a triple layer of blankets, sharing warmth in a way that’s far superior to the space heater. 

(Paul’s claim that having a hot guy in bed with him was perfect left Hugh rolling his eyes affectionately even as the six of them exchanged goodnights.)

His partner squirms again, reminding Hugh of the problem at, err, hand. Two weeks of opposite shifts meant they’d barely exchanged a quick kiss, much less anything more intimate. Coupled with the adrenaline crash from today, it’s a foregone conclusion that being in such close proximity is going to make them both a bit...excited.

Hugh’s plan of a little necking with the sheet pulled over their heads went out the proverbial viewport the moment Paul nudged their hips together. Arousal stimulating the circulation to keep them warm is a flimsy excuse, but if the others are actually asleep, he’s fairly certain he can satisfy them both in short order.

Assuming Paul’s mix of completely obscene moans and vulnerable mewls doesn’t wake their guests up. Hugh’s not sure he could survive Tilly’s embarrassment.

The hand stifling the noise is a good solution, except for the fact that they can’t kiss, which is Hugh’s second favorite activity involving their mouths. He has to settle for pressing their foreheads together, noses touching, and lets Paul move them closer. Hugh uses his free hand to pull up the hems of both of their pajama shirts (no point in making a bigger mess), untying drawstrings and shoving the loose pants down just far enough for access. Then he gathers both of them together in his hand and starts stroking.

The satiny slide of sensitive skin is maddening, testing his own ability to stay quiet. Paul throws one leg over his hips to give them more room to work, and Hugh bites down on the back of his own hand, rhythm stuttering when Paul abandons his grip on his waist and joins him. Their fingers are slippery with the evidence of their pleasure, the air beneath the sheet growing hot and humid with each labored exhale. Paul’s whimpering high in his throat, close to the edge, and Hugh isn’t far behind.

He’s left working alone when Paul’s hand flies up to cover the one already over his mouth. Hugh watches, enraptured, as blue eyes snap open, wide and unfocused. A moment later, heat spills over his fingers, and that’s all it takes for him to follow.

Somehow, he retains enough presence of mind to wipe his hand on his shirt before the mess ends up on the sheets. He lets go of Paul’s jaw, stripping off the shirt and balling it up, dropping it on the floor on the far side of the bed from the room’s other occupants. 

Hugh traces gentle touches over the red marks on pale skin, kissing each in mute apology. Careful fingers tuck them both back into their pants, eliciting a shiver of post-orgasm sensation. Paul’s eyes are sated and sleepy, and he kisses him sweetly on the lips before rolling over until Hugh’s spooned up behind him. 

“Night love,” Hugh murmurs against the back of his neck.

”Sweet dreams, dear doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweaty under-the-covers mutual handjob? Not sorry about it ;) 
> 
> How many people think they actually got away without waking someone up?
> 
> Part 2 in chapter 36.


	33. (Un)spoiled

They’ve always been so in sync, comfortable in each other’s space. Their bodies curve together, established patterns of whose arm goes where when they cuddle. Familiar routines of casual touch that Hugh never thought about much, before. It felt _right_, and that’s all he needed to know.

Now, there’s something unsettling even if he can’t articulate it. This body is new, pristine, unmarred by the thousand little scrapes and bruises and love bites accumulated over four decades. Doctor Pollard pronounces it with an almost awed excitement, but for Hugh there’s nothing about it to celebrate. 

Paul touches him now, with a caress that he should want to lean into, but it’s all he can do not to shrink away.

It feels wrong.

This body doesn’t know Paul.


	34. Small (Things)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s really a simple man to please, if your name is Hugh Culber. Routine doesn’t mean boring. At all.

Hugh’s alarm goes off precisely at 0615, the same every morning he’s on alpha shift. 

Also the same every morning? Paul groaning and burying his head under the pillow.

Yawning, Hugh drops a kiss onto the tiny bit of skin exposed between pillow and collar on the back of Paul’s neck. He lingers for a few seconds, breathing in the warmth and closeness of their bed, then pushes himself upright. Before he can do more than swing his legs over the edge of the bed though, a hand latches onto his arm.

Right on schedule.

”Stay.”

”Can’t babe, I need to get my run in before breakfast.”

Paul’s still under the pillow, but his grip on Hugh is firm. It’s more tempting than he’d ever let on, to curl up under the covers and snuggle into his partner, go back to sleep.

”You’re abandoning me. Again.”

Finger by finger, Hugh pries Paul off his arm. It’s as much a part of their morning routine as anything else, and he knows the pillow will be discarded the moment he shifts his weight off the mattress. 

Standing, he stretches and moves towards the closet, hearing the covers rustle as Paul rolls onto his side. He grins at the sound, tossing out a command before the sheets settle.

“Computer, sunrise, ten percent.”

Within seconds, the room is bathed in soft gold light, mimicking the illumination of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Paul makes a pleased noise, rubbing his eyes and cozying up under the duvet to watch Hugh discard his pajama top. The light paints his torso in shades of bronze, muscles flexing as he retrieves his workout clothes. Hugh keeps his body in good shape, enjoys the occasional appreciative glances he receives from their shipmates, but no one else in the universe looks at him with the same reverent adoration.

Dwelling on the thought is going to make him late though, so he tucks it away in the overflowing section of his heart marked “Paul” and continues. Instead of pulling on the shirt, he drapes it over the back of a chair and drops the loose sleep pants, stepping out of them casually before bending down to pick them up off the floor.

”Enjoying the show?”

”Mmmm,” Paul’s voice is rough with sleep, “only thing worth waking up this early for.”

Hugh heads into the bathroom, still unselfconsciously nude, and sets about brushing his teeth. When he emerges a few minutes later, Paul’s eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly, just as expected.

Smiling, he quickly dresses and heads off for his morning run.

********  
Thankfully, Paul’s vertical when Hugh returns thirty minutes later, sleepily brushing his teeth. His hair is wet, meaning he’s already showered, so Hugh doesn’t invite him into the cubicle. It’s a little disappointing, even though a shared shower has a fifty percent chance of making them late enough to miss breakfast.

Paul’s in full uniform, lounging back on the bed while Hugh heads back to the closet for his medical whites. He watches silently, PADD fallen to the sheets, as Hugh pulls on his briefs and undershirt before zipping up pants and jacket. The show is just as nice in reverse, really, transforming his partner into the ever-professional Doctor Culber.

He checks the chrono - 0715 - and hands Hugh his badge. 

“Breakfast?”

”Let’s go.”

********  
Somehow, Paul is the first one home that evening. Hugh commed earlier to say he’s going to be in surgery and might be late, but it’s 2200 and still no sign of him. 

“Stamets to Medbay.”

”Medical, Pollard. Don’t worry Lieutenant, Doctor Culber is just finishing up now, we should have him out in thirty,” her voice fades out for a moment, “-and he says to remind you to eat.”

He can hear the weary smile in her voice, and thanks her before closing the channel. That’s just enough time to run to the mess hall and at least bring them both back a sandwich if he cuts his evening shower down to two minutes. He has no idea if Hugh skipped dinner too, but a hungry doctor is a grumpy one and he’d rather not take the chance.

Paul is putting on his own pajamas when Hugh arrives. He looks tired but satisfied, kicking off his boots and massaging his wrists.

”Surgery went well?”

”Yeah, got a bit complicated but everything’s fine. Thanks for grabbing food, babe.”

He hands Hugh the other sandwich and they eat in comfortable silence on the couch, shoulders just brushing.

No matter how many times he does it, he’ll never get tired of kissing this man, Paul decides once the plates are set aside. They’re lazy kisses that aren’t going anywhere, but he doesn’t mind.

”Bed? Or did you want to shower first.”

”Nah. I did when I scrubbed out. Bed.”

They move towards the bed, lowering the lights except at the bathroom mirror. So many nights are one of them sneaking in late after shift, trying not to wake the other, that getting ready for bed together is still a treat.

Paul thinks the only thing better than watching Hugh get dressed is peeling him out of uniform at the end of the day. Hugh lets him, standing still as Paul unzips the jacket and uses the excuse of sliding it off to caress his shoulders. The crisp white fabric is wrinkled with hours of wear, and he tosses it onto the laundry pile without a second thought. 

Hugh’s undershirt is next, body pliant while Paul eases it up over his chest and arms. He steals a kiss while it’s still bunched around Hugh’s neck, then pulls it off as well, blushing when Hugh chuckles at him for briefly sniffing the bundle of fabric.

”You really think my sweat smells good?”

”Shut up.”

The exchange is familiar, as is Hugh apologizing with a kiss behind Paul’s ear, nuzzling into his hair.

Paul slides his hands down sculpted planes of muscle, teasing at the waistband of his pants. He briefly cups the swell of not-quite-arousal between Hugh’s legs, enjoying the feel of him under his hand. It could go either way, and he glances up, question written on his face.

”Too tired,” is the answer, tinged with genuine regret, “sorry love.”

It’s not too disappointing, not when he still has all this Hugh to touch. The zipper is near silent, and he pushes pants and underwear down together, dropping to the floor as Hugh steps out of them. Gentle fingers brush his cheek, and Paul assuages any worry at the refusal by kissing both inner thighs before standing again.

Less than a minute later, Hugh is in his pajamas too and they brush their teeth in silence. Paul orders the lights off, and they settle under the covers, spooned up together. 

He drifts off to sleep, content to repeat the process all over in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a sucker for domestic Culmets.


	35. Somehow, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep trying to rationalize Paul’s kiss being enough to take Hugh into the network, but it really feels like it wouldn’t be wholly successful unless something “held the door open” so to speak, partially in and partially out of the mycelial plane just like when they go to rescue Tilly. Here’s one possibility.

Paul’s only vaguely aware of speaking aloud, brain barely processing anything other than the fact that _Hugh is alive, not dead, real_.

He remembers seeing him sprawled on the floor, eyes open and unseeing. 

Remembers pulling Hugh into his arms, searching for signs of life. 

Remembers the cold knife piercing his heart when Hugh’s head lolled sideways, no pulse under his still-warm skin.

Remembers kissing him, hardly even feeling the tears dripping from his chin.

It shouldn’t have been enough though, his mind returning to the network and carrying that tiny bit of Hugh with him. Hugh was already gone, the network couldn't have recognized them both, the transferred energy should have faded away and dispersed without creating a two-way connection.

Unless...

Traces of Hugh on his lips, traveling from their universe into the network.

Traces of his own DNA still lingering inside of Hugh from making love the night before.

Hugh staying at his bedside, on duty, not leaving, anchoring part of the network on Discovery.

Circuit complete. 

“I brought him here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m completely suggesting what it sounds like.
> 
> Part 2 (prequel) in chapter 38


	36. Shhh, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the night from a different perspective lead to a hilarious morning after. Or, Keyla tries to breathe in bread, Michael sprays coffee, and Tilly is just Very Confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to FrozenMemories, SilverLights, and pencilguin for encouraging this :)

Keyla Detmer went through the standard Starfleet survival training at the Academy, the same as any other cadet. It had been a week-long endurance test from hell, taking them from the high desert to deep jungle and finally a frozen mountaintop. (It’s the only time in her life she received a sunburn, mosquito bites, AND frostbite on one trip.) Sleeping on the floor of Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber’s quarters is more comfortable by far than shivering in her thermal sleeping bag while the wind howled across the Himalayas, but it isn’t a suite on Risa either.

Doctor Culber had very graciously offered them the use of the bed, and Keyla was sure she’d seen Stamets give his partner a significant side-eye. It’s big enough that she and Michael, Tilly, and Owo could probably fit, and the duvet looks very toasty indeed. On the other hand, it would be bad manners to kick their hosts out of their own bed, and the others seem to agree. 

Privately, she wonders if Tilly’s refusal also has to do with the fact that she’s adopted Stamets as a quasi-parental figure, and would rather not sleep where he and Doctor Culber doubtless enjoy intimate activities. (She’d told Keyla all about the conduit incident in the spore hub, including the obnoxiously large love bite under Stamets’ collar.) Seeing Stamets in his pajamas is certainly odd, but not as traumatizing as Tilly’s expression suggests.

A round of rock-phaser-scissors later, Michael protesting the lack of sense in such a game, and Tilly comes out victorious for the couch. Stamets passes out blankets from the ship’s emergency stores, they take turns in the bathroom (Keyla’s simultaneously scandalized and intrigued by the waterproof lube hiding behind the shampoo in the shower), and there’s nothing left but to bed down for the night.

”I don’t know how helpful this will be,” Doctor Culber sighs as he sets the emergency heater on the coffee table, “but it can’t hurt.”

”Hugh, that thing is designed for the inside of a survival tent, not-“

Stamets flinches at the unsubtle elbow in his ribs, and goes back to putting on a pair of thick socks. 

Owo’s already got both hands in front of it, and Michael and Keyla join her long enough to thaw chilly fingers before wrapping themselves up and settling in for the night. 

“Computer, lights off.”

Sounds of rustling fabric punctuate the darkness. The only illumination comes from the faint orange glow from the heater, and Keyla can just make out their hosts moving towards each other under the covers on the bed. 

“Goodnight ladies,” Doctor Culber calls over, “wake us up if you need anything.”

”Wake _him_ up,” Stamets sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, “Hugh, they’re adults, they’ll be fine.”

”Night sirs.”

”You’re on our floor Tilly, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be that formal.”

”Sorry, si- ummm. Doctor.”

”Night everyone,” Owo is practically under the coffee table, “someone set an alarm?”

”0615.”

”Thank you.”

”Goodnight Michael.”

”Goodnight Tilly.”

”Can we please consider social customs satisfied and just go to sle- oww, what was that for?”

Keyla hears what sounds like the back of someone’s fingers smacking an arm, and misses anything said next because she’s too busy snickering in the throw pillow under her head. Then she wraps the blankets a little tighter, and tries to sleep.

********  
She’s not sure what exactly wakes her. Tilly’s snoring, possibly, and it’s just as unmusical as Michael claims. Or maybe it was the whir of the heater, accompanied by an intermittent whining hum.

Keyla mentally shrugs and rolls over, trying to go back to sleep. Owo is a bundle of blanket at her left side, still as close to the heat as possible. The hum takes on a distinctly un-mechanical tone, and it has to be a trick of acoustics because it seems to be coming from the other side of the room from the heater.

That’s odd, personal quarters are designed to be sound-dampening, given the sheer number of people in close proximity to their neighbors.

She opens her eyes again to see the covers on the bed moving slightly. It looks like they’ve got the sheet pulled over their heads, not a bad idea given the frigid air. There hadn’t seemed to be much room between them before the lights went out, but maybe someone got cold. Doctor Culber looks like he’d be very warm to cuddle up to (in a completely non-sexual way, thank you very much), so she can’t blame Stamets if that’s what he’s doing.

More movement.

“...quiet, sweetheart.”

Oh. Ohhhh.

Apparently the two of them aren’t quite as asleep as Keyla thought. 

Hmmm.

They can’t possibly be doing what she thinks they’re doing with four other people in the room. She wonders if perhaps it’s just her overactive imagination - and lack of recent personal encounters - that has her mind immediately heading to the gutter, because everything seems to be still again.

Nope.

In a pause between Tilly’s snores, that’s most definitely a distinctly Stamets-sounding groan, although it’s a bit higher pitched than the ones he bestows upon people who are being especially dense. It’s followed by a husky murmur that’s a half-octave lower than Doctor Culber’s professional bedside voice.

The covers are moving in a suggestive rhythm now. She should probably cover her ears or make them aware that she’s awake, but mostly the ridiculousness of the situation makes her want to burst out laughing.

Someone gasps, and Keyla spares a thought to wonder how they’re able to breathe under the sheets like that.

Beside her, Michael stirs, eyes opening. Keyla’s hand flies up, finger to her own lips then pointing at the bed. It’s still bitingly cold, and she immediately tucks her hand back under her blankets as Michael frowns and cocks her head to the side, listening.

A slightly louder moan, muffled, as if- _as if someone had a hand over their mouth._

Keyla’s eyes widen at the same time Michael raises one eyebrow. She lowers her blanket enough that Keyla can read her lips:

_Are they?_

Making eye contact is a mistake though, because Michael’s serious face cracks almost immediately. They look away, and Keyla almost manages to control her expression when they accidentally lock eyes again. She snorts into the pillow and they both freeze, wondering if she was too loud.

They really needn’t have worried, because the whines have turned into whimpers and judging by the way what has to be Stamets’ knee is shaking, it’s doubtful they have much attention left for anything but each other.

Tilly snores on.

Michael has her hand clenched into a fist, pressed over her mouth as she shakes with suppressed laughter. Keyla isn’t doing much better, blanket between her teeth.

Just when she doesn’t think they can hold it in any longer, there’s a sharp gasp followed by a ragged inhale, and the covers fall still.

_Oh my god,_ she mouths at Michael.

The sheet rustles, and there’s a soft noise like fabric hitting the floor. Michael raises her eyebrow again, and that sets Keyla off into another round of stifled giggles.

The couple on the bed shift enough that it’s obvious Stamets is rolling over, followed by an indistinct murmur and the smacking sound of a kiss. She and Michael stare at each other for another minute before Michael shakes her head and mimes sleeping. Keyla nods and closes her eyes, eventually drifting off again with a smirk on her face.

********

She’s vaguely aware of the alarm going off and the sound of quiet conversation before the bathroom door closes. Keyla opens her eyes to find Michael surprisingly still asleep, and judging by Owo and Tilly’s snores, they’re not awake either. 

The sonic shower chimes loudly enough that she can hear it through the closed door, and a quick glance reveals that the bed is empty. 

After last night, she probably shouldn’t be surprised that they shower together.

It’s a whole lot colder than it was last night though. The heater’s batteries must have run down, and Keyla decides she’d lose more warmth fiddling with the controls than just pulling the blanket back over her head. She’s not on alpha today, so there’s no reason to fight the heaviness of her eyelids. 

Keyla is just on the edge of sleep when the bathroom door opens again. It’s followed by the sound of footsteps approaching, then suddenly she’s aware of something heavy settling over her. Cracking an eye open, she realizes that Stamets has pulled the duvet off the bed and is clumsily tucking it around the three of them on the floor. It’s still warm with residual body heat, and she’s about to say thank you when she sees his expression - uncharacteristically soft and bordering on affectionate as he spreads the second blanket over Tilly - and closes her eyes again, oddly touched by the gesture.

It’s much easier to go back to sleep, warmed by the duvet and the discovery that Stamets really does care under his grouchy exterior.

********

Owo is gone by the time Doctor Culber rouses her. There’s a tray of toast and coffee on the table now, and Tilly’s already downing a mug as if her life depends on it.

Actually, given her regular levels of caffeination, that might not be far from the truth.

Michael sits up beside her, and Keyla gratefully accepts a mug of her own, nodding thanks. She has half a slice of toast in her mouth when the fog of drowsiness lifts enough for her to remember.

Keyla turns to see Michael coming to a similar revelation, and nearly inhales the toast while failing to suppress the squeak that bursts out.

Stamets and Culber turn from whatever conversation they’re having by the desk, matching looks of confusion on their faces. It’s too much, and full blown giggles erupt as Michael snorts coffee. 

The two men shrug and go back to staring at a PADD together, and Keyla and Michael lean helplessly against each other, giggles eventually dying down.

“Guys?”

Tilly’s wearing her frowny thinking face.

”What’s so funny?”


	37. Speculation, Part Two (prequel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background for chapter 8.

The door swishes shut behind him.

Hugh slumps against it, tension draining from his shoulders, setting down the last box at his feet and sliding down the smooth surface to sit on the floor. In front of him, the darkened space of his quarters waits.

His. Not Paul’s.

Standard issue ‘fleet furniture aside, the room feels empty. He pulls his knees up, elbows braced on them, exhausted beyond words.

Moving out of Paul’s (their) quarters hurt more than dying. It’s probably not a fair comparison - he’d had a split second to realize what was happening, a brief flare of indescribable pain, awareness gone before his body even hit the floor. 

Paul offered to help, and a tiny sadistic part of him wanted to say yes, to heap upon him all of the weight of everything. The flash of cold calculation shocked him away from the thought completely, and he just shook his head and kept shoving things in boxes. Familiar objects, mementos and clothing, all piled together in the box, things he should feel something for but instead were foreign under his fingers. He almost wanted to leave it all, not be confronted with reminders, but it would have been more cruel to Paul that way. For the sake of the love they once shared...he couldn’t do that to him.

Hugh closes his eyes, knocking his head back against the door. The thud doesn’t do anything to clear his mind, not that he really expects it to. 

His entire life _before_, the old Hugh, is scattered into a meager half dozen standard storage crates. They aren’t going anywhere if he doesn’t do something with them, unfortunately. He drags himself to his feet, pushing the last box under the table before picking one at random.

This is the one that Paul must have packed before giving up, items carefully nestled between layers of t-shirts and boxers to cushion them from harm. Inside, a set of folded silk pajamas in brilliant ruby red sit alongside his personal PADD and an old-fashioned wooden box roughly the size of his two clenched fists. He lifts the box out on impulse, opening it to spill its contents over the table.

A stack of folded papers tumble out followed by a metallic clang. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from picking the object up.

Paul’s Academy ring is heavy in his palm, gold chain warming to his skin. He hasn’t seen it in months, hasn’t worn it tucked away under his uniform since before coming aboard Discovery. There was no need for it after that, no need to carry a physical reminder of Paul with him, not when they were reunited. So he’d put it away in this box and not thought about it again, knowing it was safe.

The box is full of handwritten love notes he’d hidden in Paul’s luggage when they were going to be on different ships, years ago. Paul had taken each declaration, each phrase, written his own responses on the backs and sent them to Hugh a month later, bundled together with this ring. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but it was a start to a new phase of their relationship, one where they began to speak more openly about their plans together, discussed a future for them both.

He’d always been careful not to damage them, these once-precious symbols of love. The notes are a little crinkled, crisp folds softened with years of re-reading. Except...

Hugh frowns. A few have spots where the ink is blurred, as if droplets of water had fallen on them and dried.

Oh.

Paul must have taken them out while he was gone, must have _cried_ over them. 

Maybe they should go back to him.

He finds himself re-folding each, setting them back in their box with the ring on top. Hugh puts it aside, tells himself it’s just until he’s sure there’s nothing else that Paul should have in any of the other boxes. 

Two hours later, he closes the lid on a crate of books and clothes that he’d stolen from Paul’s wardrobe over the years. They’re no longer his in so many ways, and perhaps not having them around will make for a clean path forward. 

He falls into a fitful sleep, the bed somehow too big. In the morning, he asks Tilly to help return those things to Paul, tells himself it’s healthy distance and that he’s not avoiding him. They make awkward small talk, and she leaves less than five minutes later, reluctantly carrying the crate.

Hugh rests his head in his hands and considers the small wooden box still on the table. Opens the lid and stares at the ring inside, chain coiled around it. Closes the lid.

He doesn’t need them. Each note is long since committed to memory, even if he can’t assign an emotion to their recitation. He should send them back to Paul, shouldn’t keep looking at them.

Why can’t he let this go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure where I was going when I wrote this, but ended up here with a very conflicted Hugh. Sigh.


	38. Slow / Somehow, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovemaking below, be warned. Non-graphic.

In the moment, it’s a completely unremarkable night, save for the fact that it’s the first time they’ve been able to end the day together in almost a week.

Years of sharing a bed means they gravitate towards each other without thinking, Hugh on his side and Paul tucked snugly behind, an unbroken line of contact from chin to toes. Paul has both arms around him, one between Hugh’s head and the pillow and the other warm and heavy at his waist. They shift against the sheets for a moment until their bodies adjust, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He’s always felt safe in his partner’s embrace, but never more than in this position.

Safe and a little aroused, to be honest. 

The playful kisses in the shower and blatantly grabbing Paul’s ass while ‘reaching the shampoo’ telegraphed their mutual desires quite clearly, but there’s no rush to move past cuddling just yet. Instead, he wiggles his hips enough to feel a growing firmness in Paul’s loose sleep pants, letting out a satisfied hum when the action leads to the back of his neck being nuzzled. 

“Yeah?”

The single syllable is laden with affection, Paul’s smile apparent in the tone. He briefly considers protesting his innocence, but it’s been long enough with minimal time together that there’s no point in denying it.

”Mmmhmmm.”

”Okay.”

Paul’s lips barely brush his ear, the whisper prompting a full-body shiver. He responds by rolling his hips with more purpose, pleased by the sharp inhale it causes.

Other people talked about relationships becoming boring when two or more partners fell into routines, falling back on the same successful but ultimately predictable activities. Hugh couldn’t disagree more - or perhaps it says more about people’s partners than anything. They’ve long since learned each other’s preferences and quirks in bed and out, where to touch and what not to do in certain situations, and it’s no less satisfying for it.

Someone else wouldn’t know how much pressure to use to signal a serious massage and not foreplay. Would have to be told there’s no sex before brushing their teeth when they wake up, because Paul can’t stand being unable to kiss. 

Another person wouldn’t realize that caressing Hugh’s inner thighs with a hint of nails is guaranteed to end with being pinned to the mattress, or that one spot just below Paul’s collarbone on the right side is ridiculously sensitive. 

No one else knows that if Hugh stands around too long in his sweaty gym clothes before taking a shower, Paul will follow him in and put the waterproof lube to good use.

Case in point, Paul is lavishing open-mouthed kisses over the side of his neck with just the right hint of teeth to send hot desire skittering down his spine. A tug on the collar signals that his shirt is in the way, and he pulls it off eagerly, humming in satisfaction as Paul does the same. 

The expanse of bare chest against Hugh’s equally unclothed back makes him roll his shoulders in sensual delight. He shamelessly flexes his back just a little, smiling when Paul retrieves his hand and uses it to trace each well-defined muscle. It’s a slightly awkward angle, but he twists and cranes his head back for a kiss.

“Wanna...like this?”

Paul waits, watches him with something warm and deep in his eyes. He nods, secure in the knowledge that he can tell him if he wants to change his mind along the way. There’s an intense satisfaction in feeling the quiet strength in this sort of embrace, the intimacy to make up for their days apart.

”Please?”

Hugh punctuates the request with another kiss.

”Anything for you, dear doctor.”

They don’t have to speak after that, moving pillows and shedding the rest of their clothes (Paul insists on taking his socks off, because sex with socks on is apparently anathema worse than insulting mushrooms) in comfortable silence.

Everything is unhurried, all parts of the process enjoyed as Paul reads Hugh’s body effortlessly, the sighs and pitch of his moans telling him when he’s ready. Then Hugh shifts his leg just so and suddenly Paul is _right there_, wordless exclamations breathed out in tandem. The only thing left between them is mingled sweat, Hugh held so perfectly close against Paul’s body. 

Tonight they won’t, but they could draw this out for hours, the slow ebb and flow of arousal in kisses exchanged and intimate caresses. They move in familiar ways, rocking together to the rhythm of quiet moans and the kisses Hugh presses to Paul’s hand, licking the delicate skin of his wrist to feel the pulse throbbing under his tongue. Paul’s litany of adoration for his lover, words moaned and gasped out breathlessly, fills the air in counterpoint. 

They don’t quite manage to tumble over the edge at the same time, but it’s not far apart and it gives Hugh a chance to recover enough to focus fully as Paul shakes and arches against him.

“Stay,” he whispers when Paul’s brain comes back online and he starts to move away.

”Shower?” 

”In the morning, I want to fall asleep like this, feel you all around me. In me.”

Paul doesn’t argue, doesn’t point out that they’ll have to change the sheets tomorrow, just nods and settles back down behind him. Hugh can still smell Paul on his skin even as they pull the covers up and kiss goodnight.

They fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, content.  
  


_If we had known it was our last night together, _Paul muses sadly_, what might have been different?_

Maybe they would have held each other even tighter, made sure they said everything they needed to say, had desperate sex instead of the slow passion they shared. Maybe it would have given them both comfort before that final fateful jump.

He remembers how they didn’t have time for a shower the next morning, sleeping through the alarm and rushing to dress. Went on shift with traces of each other under their uniforms, hours before his world shattered.

_Oh, Hugh._

Maybe that night of sweet unhurried lovemaking was everything it needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as a prequel to Chapter 35 “Somehow” as an explanation for how Paul and Hugh are so connected that the transfer to the network is successful.


	39. Sneaky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's stolen Hugh’s towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freshly showered Hugh. Yes please. Can you really blame Paul for staring? 
> 
> Consider this another apology for writing angst.

Hugh is already peeling off his sweaty gym shirt before the door to their quarters even finishes sliding shut. He and Rhys had gone several rounds on the mat - Rhys arguing that even a doctor should learn basic self-defense, Hugh eventually giving in because it _was_ an excellent workout - and all he can think of is a shower and maybe convincing Paul to rub his back before falling asleep.

"Hi honey," Paul calls from the other side of his PADD, sprawled over the bed.

Hugh doesn't say anything, just drops a sweaty kiss on Paul's cheek before making a beeline for the bathroom, completely oblivious to the appreciative look following him to the door. When he emerges dripping wet a good ten minutes later, neither his towel nor his pajamas are anywhere in sight. In fact, there aren't any towels left in the bathroom, nothing he could possibly cover himself with. 

Shaking his head, he makes his damp way out to confront the grinning thief lounging on a pile of bath linens. He has to hand it to Paul - he didn't even notice him doing it, thought he'd be too engrossed in whatever he was reading to even notice the time passing.

He plants his feet a comfortable distance apart, hands on his hips, ignoring the way a small puddle is forming on the carpet.

"If you wanted me naked, you could have joined me."

"But where's the fun in that?" Paul addresses him somewhere distinctly below the waist, "This is so much more...more."

"Very eloquent, Doctor Stamets."

There's a very appealing blush creeping up from under Paul's collar, belying his relaxed pose. 

"Thank you, Doctor Culber."

Tilting his head in thought, Hugh tests a theory: he slowly transfers his weight to one leg, twisting his hips in a slow stretch, and yep, there it is. Paul shifts nearly imperceptibly on the bed, legs moving just a little further apart, and licks his lips.

"Sweetheart, my eyes are up here."

Paul's gaze takes its time traveling on a leisurely path up to his face. When their eyes meet, Hugh can see that his are wide with desire, pupils nearly eclipsing the usual stunning azure.

He moves decisively, crossing the few steps to reach the bed. Paul swallows hard when Hugh clears the towels off the bed with one swipe, gasps in delight as Hugh shoves him to lie flat with a palm on his chest.

"What-"

Hugh can see the moment Paul's mouth goes dry, falling open as he drops a knee on the bed and swings the other leg over until he's straddling Paul's lap.

"You wanted a show, babe?"

Eyes wide and unblinking, Paul nods slowly, hand coming up to stroke down his still-wet chest.

"Please."

He rocks his hips a little, the thin sleep pants doing nothing to hide Paul's...appreciation of the movement. Then he leans down to share a filthy wet kiss, smiling against parted lips when Paul tries to follow his mouth as he sits up again. It takes both hands on his shoulders to get his partner to lie down, pouting until Hugh reaches across the bed to retrieve a pillow, tucking it under his head gently.

"Hugh, please..."

"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, "I'm going to take such good care of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Hugh calling Paul “Dr. Stamets” - I’m assuming Paul probably has a PhD in astromycology, and this would be his proper title without considering rank.


	40. Spouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Jett Reno have a heart to heart in Engineering at 0330. Takes place before "Saints of Imperfection".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching deleted scenes on the Season 2 DVD, and there's a very quiet moment cut from "Through The Valley Of Shadows" where Reno tells Paul that she won't have any "broken hearts" in the lab right then. I wish it would have made it into the episode - she says she has to go take care of something at the end, and I suspect that it would have been the lead up to her talking to Hugh about second chances. The scene with Hugh is still impactful, but seeing Reno reacting so strongly to Paul's heartbreak would add yet another dimension.

He’s not expecting anyone else to be in the spore drive bay at 0330, not when gamma shift is only remote diagnostics. Insomnia drove him out of his quarters, and it seems like as good a place as any to pass the rest of the night cycle reading reports on his PADD. Familiar, quiet, and maybe just a little bit comforting.

A sigh alerts him to the presence of someone else, the sound amplified by the bay’s shape. Striding around the consoles with a puzzled frown, he finds Jett Reno sitting cross-legged behind a stack of crates. She’s staring off into the blue glow of the spore chamber, hands clasped and fingers tapping her knuckles rapidly.

He opens his mouth to ask her what she’s doing up when she’d already worked a double when her fidgeting fingers draw his attention and Paul notices something odd.

”...since when do you wear a ring?”

Reno jumps a little, and Paul realizes just how wrapped up she must have been in her thoughts if his unstealthy approach came as a surprise. She opens her mouth, closes it, shakes her head, and sighs.

”Suppose you wouldn’t know. Hell, no one on this ship knows, unless you’ve got a Betazoid stashed somewhere.”

“Can’t say I know of one on the crew.”

“It’s a Soyousian symbol of union,” she indicates the knot on the band, “I’m...my wife, she’s Soyousian. Was.”

There’s something about the way her voice stumbles over the second sentence that he’s only too familiar with, and he hadn’t missed her correction of tense. He sets down the PADD and sits next to her, close enough to be heard if they speak quietly.

“What was she like?”

For a moment, he’s not sure if she’s going to slip into tears, face reflecting an inner struggle. Also one he’s intimately acquainted with. Seeing the walls come down from her usual sardonic manner is not something he'd have expected. Then again, people probably think the same thing about him. Eventually, Reno settles on a sad laugh.

”She was a dreamer. Saw the best in others and wanted to help, wanted to create. Drove me absolutely nuts with wedding plans, every detail. Micromanaged.”

Her smile sheds its sadness briefly.

”I said we could just wait till we were together again and browbeat the captain into marrying us. Could have just taken care of it quietly, but she wouldn’t have it.”

"How long did you have?"

The question slips out, even as he's kicking himself for asking. 

"Not long enough. Today’s our anniversary,” Reno gives him a lopsided smile, squeezing her right index finger, “we were supposed to go to Risa to celebrate. Five whole days of shore leave.”

Paul nods, gesturing with his hands. _Go on._

"With the war, with this mission...you bury yourself in work to forget the grief. Sometimes it works, then you think, how can this actually be happening? Sometimes I don't want to forget her, and I pull this out."

He can only nod again in understanding, thinking about how he still can't sleep on Hugh's side of the bed, of his pajamas folded under his pillow long since his scent has faded, the medical whites still hanging in the closet. They lapse into silence, Reno continuing to spin her wedding band, just the steady hum of the conduit behind them for company.

Paul isn't expecting it when her shoulder bumps his, startling him not unpleasantly. He hadn't realized how the distance between them has decreased sometime in the last few minutes. Reno's eyes are reddened, but her gaze is steady.

”Tell me about him.”

Paul shakes his head, eyes dropping.

”I’m fine, you’re the one with...with feelings right now.”

She scoffs, but he can tell it's not meant to offend.

”Cut the bull, Stamets. A blind sehlat could tell that you’re not. You miss him, that’s okay. Not going to make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but,” Reno’s hand is shockingly warm when she rests two fingers on his knee, “I’m willing to return the favor you just did.”

He breathes in, exhales slowly. Repeats the action a few times before he feels steady enough to even start.

“I...Hugh was...amazing. Everything about him. Kind and patient and honest, left the cap off the toothpaste and nagged me to eat. Loved to go to the gym, listened to the most horrendous Kasseelian opera."

"Sounds like an interesting guy. Tall, dark, and handsome?"

The gentle teasing is surprisingly soothing.

"Not tall. But...yes."

"What was your favorite thing about him?"

So many things. How can he pick just one, when he misses them all, even the habits that used to annoy him? 

"Me too," Reno nudges his shoulder again just before the long pause turns awkward, "but what's the first thing you think of?"

”Hugh used to smile at me, when we woke up, and he’d just wake up perfect, and I always thought, why does someone so perfect stick around to wake up with me? He’d smile with this...this look of wonder. At me, just for me." 

He dares to glance over, Reno's gentle smile encouraging him to continue. 

"I...wasn't always a good partner. Took it for granted that he'd always be there, stayed late doing my work all the time. Especially here. We fought sometimes, about that, and I should have done better. Should have come home, because all of this?" his eyes flick around the bay, "isn't as important as him. And I don't know if he knew that." 

"Loved you anyways though, right?"

Paul wonders briefly if he ought to be surprised at his own willingness to share something so personal, but he already has a healthy respect for her despite their constant bickering on-duty, and the unassuming compassion tells him he can trust her with it. She doesn't offer any tired platitudes, no 'of course he did' or 'he wouldn't want you to feel like this', and that's comforting in its own right.

"Always. No one sees me the way he does. Did. And I..." Paul blinks back the tears blurring his vision, "I have to live with that.”

Slowly, Reno reaches out, giving him plenty of time to avoid it before her arm settles around his shoulders. He's not fond of casual touch from anyone but Hugh, but this doesn't feel intrusive at all. He sags into the offered support, leaning his head back on the crates and closing his eyes. Neither of them speaks after that, silent in their own grief. But oddly enough, it helps to not feel quite so alone. 


	41. Speak (My Name)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names Paul and Hugh use for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write Hugh using multiple different words to speak to Paul, depending on the situation, but almost never the other way around. This is why.

Hugh uses endearments out of affection, as the mood calls for. 

He rarely calls his partner by name, reserving _Paul_ for moments of serious conversation or argument.

> ”Look Paul, I know you don’t think about how damn dangerous this is, but I do.”
> 
> ”Paul? Can you hear me? Please say something.”
> 
> ”I believe in you, Paul. I love you.”

_Love_ rolls off his tongue easily and often.

> ”Hey love, how was your day?”
> 
> ”See you in a few hours, love.”

_Babe_ is casual, sometimes exasperated, occasionally annoyed.

> “Babe, have you seen my blue sweater?”
> 
> “Not now babe, trying to finish this report.”

_Sweetheart_ is tender, moments of gentle intimacy...or filthy promise.

> “Goodnight sweetheart.”
> 
> ”I’m going to take such good care of you, sweetheart.”
> 
> ”Shhhhh sweetheart, you’re so beautiful like this.”

********

Paul isn’t prone to endearments, they feel awkward in his mouth and never sound right.

_Hugh_ is the only name he needs, because that one word means everything.


	42. Shampoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet shower interlude.

Paul knows he's being shorter than usual when he breezes past Hugh after entering their quarters, his only response to the "bad day, love?" a monosyllabic grumble. He doesn't even stop for a hello kiss on his way into the bathroom, too intent on washing off the proverbial day in a very physical manner. His boots thud against the carpet where he kicks them, uniform shed in a trail from doorway to shower, and he doesn't stop until he's leaning on the shower wall forehead-first with the sonics on full blast. 

It's unfair to expect Hugh to understand and not take offense, but because his partner is too good and patient for him, that's exactly what he does. There are a myriad of cues in Paul's body language that tell Hugh the bad mood has nothing to do with him - if Paul had been taking out his stress by picking a fight, that would be something else. The open bathroom door says that not only is he not unwelcome, but it's Paul's subtle way of requesting company, so he merely sighs and counts to twenty before stripping off his own lounging clothes and following him in. 

Hugh winces as he steps over the ledge, dialing back the intensity with one hand while tugging on Paul's shoulder with the other. He maneuvers the unresisting form until he can fold him into an embrace, cheek resting on Hugh's shoulder for a few heartbeats before switching over to water. 

Steam starts to fill the cubicle, and he's expecting it when Paul exhales hard and slumps further against him. He doesn't say anything, just adjusts his grip to hold them both upright, rocking gently.

Eventually, Paul stirs, raising his head. This time, when Hugh greets him, he offers a soft kiss in apology for his earlier behavior.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Hugh."

"That bad?"

Tiny droplets of water cling to Paul's eyelashes, and he shakes his head a little, dislodging them.

"Just...yeah. Do I have to talk about it?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Thanks."

It doesn't seem to be anything more serious than exhaustion and possibly frustration, so he lets it go for now. Instead, Hugh shifts enough to reach the shampoo, feeling more tension drain out of the body plastered to his front as he massages the lather through Paul's hair, humming quietly all the while. Soap is next, and he's careful to keep his touch soothing rather than arousing, but light enough to avoid accidentally tickling as his fingers slide over the crests of his hips and dip into the valley of his spine.

By the time he tilts them back to rinse, Paul's hands have come up to grasp his shoulders and he's no longer resting all of his weight on Hugh. Even without being able to see his face to gauge the effects, Hugh knows he's been successful by the deep, slow breaths gusting over his throat.

He turns off the shower, wrapping Paul in a towel before quickly drying himself, and leaves him to brush his teeth while he moves quickly through their quarters to toss their clothes into the laundry pile and turn down the bed. Paul shakes his head at the proffered pajamas, and Hugh foregoes his as well, understanding that what his partner needs tonight is the wordless comfort of skin on skin.

The sheets are cool underneath his back, waiting for Paul to settle at his side before pulling up the duvet. He slips his fingers back into slightly damp hair, stroking absently while they shift elbows and knees just so.

"Love you."

It's mumbled into his collarbone, slurred with fatigue, but Hugh hears it clearly all the same.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a long frustrating day, and writing Culmets fluff is therapeutic.


	43. Shirt

Hugh takes his time going through the things he took with him when he moved out of thei- out of Paul’s quarters. 

Some items are simple: his uniforms, for example, go into the closet without a second thought, as do his gym clothes and underwear.

Others, like mementos and photos, immediately go back into the box. His lack of an emotional connection to what used to be his favorite photo of him and Paul together is terrifying in a way that he isn’t able to process right now.

A few days after sending Tilly off with the things he wanted to return to Paul, he reaches the bottom of the last box. It’s a jumbled pile of off-duty clothing, swept out of the second dresser drawer en masse, and he contemplates the rumpled fabric while getting ready for bed. As he passes by the table, a very familiar scent catches his attention and he stops in his tracks. It’s a smell that he knows should make him smile, sandalwood and musk with a hint of smoke. Instead, he searches through the pile with increasing panic, afraid of what he’ll find.

His fingers close on a crisp collar, and he pulls the garment free with shaking hands. 

The button-down is deep blue, a shade that used to set off the eyes of the man wearing it. He remembers coming back to their quarters to find Paul lounging on the bed wearing just the shirt, frozen in surprised lust as his partner slowly ran his hands over his own body. He’d stood there speechless, unable to think when Paul set about fulfilling a fantasy only mentioned in passing, pleasuring himself as if Hugh weren’t standing right there.

Now, the shirt is wrinkled, right cuff still missing a button after Hugh decided to strip it off using his teeth. He can’t stop himself from lifting the fabric to his face, breathing in the traces of Paul’s cologne somehow still lingering months later. 

There’s a pain deep in his chest when he thinks back to that night, when he remembers the passionate lovemaking that followed but his body doesn’t respond with anything other than a spreading numbness. 

The past few weeks have given him time to think, time to realize that he’s scared of trying to reconnect his memories and feelings, terrified because _what if they don’t feel the same? _

He couldn’t raise Paul’s hopes like that, not if there’s a chance it will fail. 

Sighing, Hugh sets the shirt down on the sheets and climbs into bed. He lays awake for hours, fingers smoothing over the wrinkles.

How does he fix this when he doesn’t even know where to start?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Wilson says Anthony smells good, and I’m rather disposed to believe him.


	44. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilly spots something different about Stamets one morning. Dialogue-only.

“Good morning, Cadet.”

”Good morning, sir.”

”And how are you this morning?”

”Fine, sir. Great. Ummm. I don’t mean to be rude, but uhhh. There’s something you should- errr, that.”

”...hmmm?”

”It’s just that, Lieutenant Stamets, sir, you really ought to- that is, I wasn’t _trying_ to look, I was working on the calculations you assigned me, but you were so cheerful...not that you’re not like ever super cheerful, because this is a starship and we’re doing serious science, but you were coming down the stairs and-“

“Yes?”

”So uhhh. Oh wow, this is gonna be awkward. Why am I making this awkward? I’m sorry, sir.”

”For...?”

”Yourpantsareunzippedimsosorryiwasnttryingtolook-“

”Tilly, I’ve only had two cups of coffee, can you try speaking with periods?”

”I umm. Your pants, sir. They’re un- unzipped. And. Errr. They’re not.”

”-what? Oh for...great. Thank you, I’m going back to my quarters to change.”

”But how...I mean, of course, sir!”

”You didn’t see this.”

”What? I didn’t- oh! No, ummm right. Nothing seen here, sir, not at all.”

_”Culber to Stamets.”_

”Stamets here.”

”_Paul, did you take my pants?”_


	45. Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Hugh thinking during that scene with a gravely injured Paul in the finale?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some license taken with medical terms (I swear I have three degrees in a medical-adjacent field!) but they should be generally accurate.

Hugh forgets how to breathe when he sees Paul lying on the biobed, so still and the front of his uniform soaked with blood. He saw Tilly stumbling by on her way out; there's no way she could have carried him, meaning he somehow walked in here like that, twisted metal lodged in his chest.

All of the chaos around him blurs into the background - the ship rocking as it’s hit by weapons fire (he can’t worry about that, can’t control it, can only save the lives in his hands), the cries of the wounded, alarms going off as the medical staff rush to triage and stabilize patients while more keep pouring in.

While Hugh is frozen, Doctor Culber continues to evaluate the patient’s condition. The medical professional in him takes in the failing vital signs and warnings on the biobed monitor, dispassionately observing that the patient - that _Paul_ is minutes away from crashing due to hypovolemic shock.

Shrapnel has penetrated the upper thoracic cavity, causing massive pericardial trauma. The ongoing presence of the shrapnel has, however, slowed a fatal drop in blood pressure, partially plugging the wound it caused.

Pneumothorax. Left lung collapsing, courtesy of the broken ribs, shattered sternum unable to support the chest wall struggling to maintain sufficient negative pressure.

There are a plethora of other, non life-threatening injuries as well: multiple cuts to the face from flying debris; a broken elbow, perhaps from hitting a bulkhead or console in the explosion; minor concussion likely sustained at the same time as the elbow.

All of this takes place in a few seconds that Hugh experiences as years, the rush of his own pulse in his ears drowning out everything else. He gives himself a moment to feel, teetering on the edge of despair - for all of his spore drive-related injuries, this is the first time he genuinely believes that Paul could die under his hands - before locking down the paralyzing panic and shoving everything else aside save for his oath as a physician. His focus sharpens, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself, pulling Doctor Culber around himself like a shield and forcing a calm he in no way feels.

“Paul? Hi...”

”Hugh?”

His fair skin has gone dangerously pale, breathing shallow and labored.

”I know you’re in a lot of pain.”

Hugh would give anything for a 'thank you Doctor, I hadn't noticed' or a sarcastic eyeroll for stating the obvious. 

He keeps one eye on that familiar face, now twisted in agony, while he scans his upper chest with a handheld sensor. The data confirm what his quick evaluation yielded, but also, _also_ that it's something he can fix. If he can seal the blood vessels and repair the damage, if the medbay doesn't lose power while he forces Paul's heart to keep beating, if-

_Focus, Doctor Culber._

”Paul, your injuries are pretty severe, I’m gonna induce coma.”

The hypospray hisses and Paul whimpers, shaking his head, eyes unable to focus. Paul had told him in a light tone of voice that did nothing to soften the horror of it all, that sometimes he still had trouble falling asleep for fear of being trapped outside his body again. It was a throwaway comment while Hugh was undergoing tests after his return, but the implication had of course been that sleeping beside Hugh would remedy the issue. He suspects the same panic now, but there's no way to repair the damage without sedation, not while Paul's fear and pain are flooding his body with stress hormones.

“You’ll be fine!" He wills the words into truth, has to believe it himself. "Just listen to my voice, you can hear me.”

The hand on Paul’s shoulder is as much to steady them both against the rocking of the ship as it is for comfort. He tells himself he'd do it for any patient, to ease their fears and provide the comfort of touch (because the wonders of modern medicine and technological advances still can't reproduce that). Hugh switches instruments, reaches for one that will generate a temporary low-level forcefield around Paul's heart to prevent pericardial rupture and support the muscle contractions necessary to keep blood pumping. The tri-ox he administered along with sedative should take some of the load off his injured cardiopulmonary tissues, at least for the next hour or so. 

Paul's still fighting to stay conscious - his partner is so _stubborn_ \- and Hugh doesn't even stop to examine the fond exasperation at that thought. Or that absent all other things, he still considers Paul his. 

”I thought I could make my home on Enterprise-” Hugh clenches his jaw as Paul moans in distress, “you’re doing fine."

Leaving for Enterprise would have given them physical distance, and Hugh had hoped that maybe, just maybe they could try again someday. He made a decision in the hours between trying to say goodbye to Paul and learning that he intended to follow Michael into the future, because losing him forever without even the slightest chance of trying to mend this...is not something he can bear, no matter how much he thought he wanted a clean break. 

It's now or never, then...if Paul doesn't make it through _(don't even **think** that)_, doesn't wake up again, he might never know. 

"But then I realized that...you’re my home, so I came back."

While he talks, his hands work on autopilot with a deep tissue regenerator, rebuilding the damaged blood vessels and accelerating cellular regeneration for the blunt force trauma to his ribs. He activates a sterilizing field, glances over to check that the laser scalpel and microsurgical tools he needs are laid out. 

"Everything...always, came back around to you. I’m just sorry it took me so long to see it."

There's so much more he needs to say, and neither of them have the time for him to say it now. 

“So you go to sleep now, okay? You let me take care of you.”

He presses the cortical monitor against the blood-smeared skin on Paul’s neck, fingers moving to smooth the hair back from his face. Just one more thing before he absolutely has to start surgery. Ten seconds. 

“I’m your family. Wherever we go from here," he wills Paul to understand, "we go together.”

There’s the barest hint of a smile on Paul’s pale lips as he slips into unconsciousness, but it’s enough. 

Hugh presses a kiss to his forehead, the same place he’s kissed Paul goodnight and good morning for years, and Doctor Culber sets about saving his life.


	46. Science

They're reading on the couch in their quarters, engrossed in separate PADDs, when Paul feels more than hears Hugh's chuckle.

"Something funny?"

"No."

He quirks his lips in response, not looking up as he flicks through another set of molecular spectroscopy results.

"Love?"

"Hmmm?"

Paul zooms in on one of the peaks, trying to calculate if it's significant.

"You should stop unless you're trying to start something."

"...what?"

He looks up to meet Hugh's amused eyes. His expression suggests impending arousal, and Paul frowns in confusion.

"What am I doing?"

Hugh looks down, and he follows his gaze to find the hand previously resting high on one muscular thigh has somehow migrated up the leg of Hugh's loose boxers and is currently doing what can only be described as fondling.

Oh.

Hmmmm.

"Science turn you on, babe?"

The PADD lands on the coffee table and Paul pulls Hugh over to straddle his lap. They're both old enough that arousal doesn't necessarily require a physical reaction, but something is stirring quite nicely under his fingers.

"No, but I could be convinced."


	47. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An away mission prior to the pilot episode has Paul and Hugh stuck on an alien planet with Lorca and Landry. Not exactly a recipe for a tranquil evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This grew into almost 2,000 words. Oops?

“Landry, Stamets, you’ve got the other tent. Doctor Culber, you’re with me.”

”Wait a-“ 

Paul’s outraged protest is cut short by Hugh’s firm grip on his wrist. He glances over to find his partner with the same expression as when he’s dispassionately forbidding an abusive spouse from entering a hospital room, disdain and instinctive distrust under a thin veneer of professional calm, and he’s grateful to see it.

”I’ll handle it,” he murmurs, releasing Paul’s wrist and briefly entwining their fingers, “trust me?”

He really, really wants to storm over to where Lorca’s fiddling with a tricorder, having turned away before he'd even finished speaking. It’s petty as hell, and he’s certain this is Lorca’s way of retaliating for their argument in Engineering hours before the away mission. But Hugh asked a question, and he doesn’t hesitate with the answer.

”Always.”

Hugh squeezes his hand once, checks that Landry is busy peering into the forest around them with paranoia, and briefly caresses Paul’s cheek. Paul leans into the touch, stiffening when Landry walks their direction, but she’s focused on the rocks on the next ridge over and doesn't even seem to register their presence.

He lets Hugh go with reluctance, stuffing the words he wants to say back down. As it stands, he knows Hugh’s right (he usually is, even if Paul’s being stubborn) and he needs to stay on this side of the insubordination line. He’s never been one to keep his mouth shut when he has an opinion, but there’s no point in antagonizing the Captain further. 

Even if he's an asshole.

Paul originally beamed down to investigate the trace elements in the atmosphere that might be applicable to spore enrichment, enjoying the chance for some boots-on-the-ground science. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Hugh joined him to take readings on local flora with radiation detoxifying properties. While they’re completely capable of maintaining a professional distance while on duty, it would have been the perfect chance to spend a few hours together off the ship and away from prying eyes. 

Enter Lorca to spoil it, as usual. Beyond how much he’s disgusted by the man’s bellicose bent, Paul can’t quite put his finger on what it is about Lorca that makes his stomach tighten. Exactly why Lorca insisted on being part of the away team is still a mystery, although it probably has to do with whatever he and Landry spend hours together in his top-secret lab discussing. Weapons research, he supposes, and since the planet’s crust is rich with iridium, it’s possible he has a legitimate scientific interest. Either way, he's dancing on Paul's last nerve, and being deprived of Hugh for the night is a step in the wrong direction for his fragile sense of calm. 

Spending the night cut off from the ship due to an ion storm wouldn't be too bad even with Lorca there, if he has Hugh’s steady breathing at his back. Of course, now he’s stuck with Landry’s suspicious vigilance. He doesn’t necessarily dislike her as a person, but as an extension of Lorca’s interference, she’s just a reminder of how much he hates this damn war. 

”Go on,” Landry appears seemingly out of nowhere, and Paul flinches at her stealthy approach. “I’ll take watch, get some sleep. And keep your phaser out, Lieutenant, who knows what’s watching.”

He’d really rather not sleep with a weapon next to him. Landry’s stare follows him into the tent though, and he does his best to ignore it. Hugh is silhouetted in the light from the setting suns, and he takes a moment to appreciate his partner’s form before lying down and staring at the fabric walls. 

A minute later, he gives in to the urge to check, and yep, that is a phaser under Landry's pillow. Great.

********  
”So. Doctor.”

”Captain.”

”You been on the front lines before?”

Lorca has his back turned, still doing something with his tricorder that Hugh hasn’t been able to catch a glimpse of.

”No.”

Hugh briefly wonders if he can keep conversation to monosyllables, but it’s not actually an option when he needs to address the issue at hand. He considers and discards a few different openings, ultimately deciding that charm and understanding are a lost cause and going with directness.

”Sir, were you aware that Lieutenant Stamets is my partner?”

It’s not really a question, despite the polite phrasing. He’s sure Lorca knows, which makes his instructions all the more grating.

”Yes, I am aware of that, Doctor.”

”Then you know, sir, that it’s standard practice not to separate an officer from their partner unless it’s specifically necessary for safety or completing mission objectives.”

It's a practice grounded in the understanding that any factor that improves emotional stability is seen as positive. It's also a courtesy normally extended, at least informally, to any intimate relationship recognized by the officer in charge. He and Paul are listed as each other's next of kin _and_ have a registered partnership on file with Starfleet (for locations and cultures where associations short of a marriage or its equivalent may not be given weight), on top of sharing quarters on the crew manifest. It might be below the Captain's notice for a pair of junior officers, but for the chief engineer and senior medical officer?

“I’m familiar with the protocol.” 

Despite his replies, Hugh gets the distinct impression that Lorca’s more interested in whatever he’s scanning than the conversation Hugh’s trying to have. He waits for him to elaborate, perhaps to say that he’s found the solution to ending the war or otherwise explain why he’s not paying attention to a member of his medical staff. Not unexpectedly, Lorca does neither, and Hugh counts slowly to one hundred in Spanish and Standard before coming to the conclusion that it’s not going to happen. Homophobia hasn't existed as an institutionalized bias on Earth in well over a century, so he can't imagine what Lorca's excuse is going to be.

”Then may I ask, Captain, why you’ve assigned the sleeping arrangements to have the Lieutenant with Commander Landry and not myself?”

At last, Lorca sets down the tricorder and looks over his shoulder. He pats the boulder next to the one he’s sitting on, and jerks his head to the side, beckoning. Hugh can’t think of an acceptable reason to refuse, even though he'd much rather stay standing. When he’s seated, Lorca turns to face him. 

“Because I wanted to speak with you privately, Doctor Culber. And Stamets will be perfectly safe with Landry.”

Hugh successfully manages not to roll his eyes at the implication. 

“Privately? About what?”

”You know, Doctor, how many species there are in the universe? Billions. Every kind of evolutionary process, but they all have one thing in common. War.”

Lorca seems to be waiting for some sort of response before continuing, satisfied when Hugh inclines his head in acknowledgement. He's not interested in a discussion on the philosophy of war, but perhaps it will give him more insight into Lorca's psyche.

”And in pursuing war, one needs to know the enemy in the flesh, so to speak, to find their weaknesses and exploit them.”

Something cold trickles down Hugh’s spine. This doesn’t sound like a Starfleet Captain, not even one as battle-hardened and potentially PTSD-stricken as Lorca. Hugh takes care of his body, is trained in hand-to-hand combat as part of his fitness routine, but there's an unspoken menace in the Captain's bulk.

"With all due respect sir, I prefer to advocate for peace."

”Can I count on you to help me win this war?”

Hugh phrases his response carefully to ensure that nothing in it can be misconstrued or turned back against him.

”You can count on me to uphold the oaths I took, both as a physician and a Starfleet officer.”

“Are you a pacifist, Doctor?”

The word twists into something insulting on Lorca’s tongue.

”I’m a medical officer. I swore to do no harm.”

”If a Klingon had a bat’leth to Lieutenant Stamets’ throat, would you pick up a weapon to stop it?”

Well. That went downhill quickly. He doesn’t miss Lorca’s choice of pronoun to suggest that Klingons aren’t people.

“Captain, I believe we have a fundamental difference in our interpretations of my profession. Waging war and defense of one’s self and others are not equally matched.”

Hugh stares at Lorca, trying to look past the hardness in his eyes for a trace of the decorated pre-war officer still inside. He’s unsuccessful.

”Different situation. Klingon still wants to kill your partner, you have a choice to stop it and potentially get killed in the process, which would cause a great deal more harm to the patients you would deprive of treatment. Do you walk away?”

”I fail to see the likelihood of that occurring. Sir.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, teeth clenched, and he knows Lorca sees it by the predatory way he leans forward.

”Answer the question, Doctor Culber.”

”You’ve presented a highly improbable scenario.”

“And if I order you to do nothing, what then?”

He works hard to not think about the situation suggested, because he knows what he would do. Medicine is a vocation, but he wouldn't think twice about risking his own life for Paul. As for whatever Lorca is trying to do here...

”You’re the Captain, sir, but respectfully, medical is outside your chain of command should one reasonably determine that following an order would put the lives of the crew in danger. And that includes Lieutenant Stamets.”

Lorca grunts, picking up his tricorder again.

“In war, relationships are liabilities.”

"You'll forgive me if I disagree with that statement."

A humorless bark of laughter, then Lorca waves his hand in clear dismissal.

”This has been an...enlightening conversation, Doctor. And tell Landry she can keep an eye on both of you."

It's not necessarily tacit permission to kick Landry out of the tent, particularly if she decides to cite protocol with their ranks. On the other hand, Medical is its own service entirely, and he'd like to think she's not actively interested in whatever game Lorca seems to be playing. 

Thankfully, she accepts his, "I'll be heading to sleep" and gesture at the tent where Paul is (probably not) sleeping with a shrug.

"Suit yourself, Doc. Just dump my stuff outside. Extra phaser in there too. I know you medical types don't like it, but it's there to keep you safe."

As expected, Paul is wide awake when he crawls in, rolling over to face him with a sharp retort that dies on his tongue when he sees Hugh. He frowns, watching in silence as Hugh sets Landry's pack outside and seals the canvas, setting the sensor embedded in the fabric to alarm if opened from the outside.

"Hugh...?"

"Not now, babe. Just...scoot over?"

Starfleet survival gear isn't intended for two full grown adult human males to share a sleeping bag, but the ambient temperature is warm enough that they don't need it to be zipped shut. 

"What did Lorca want?"

Hugh shakes his head, gathering Paul closer in his arms, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest soothe the raw nerves created by Lorca's prodding.

"Still trying to figure it out."

"Is that your way of telling me to shut up and go to sleep?"

Paul's lips are warm and welcoming, and the kiss works wonders to settle Hugh's thoughts.

"Yes."

"Okay. But you're gonna tell me whatever Captain Hardass said to you when we get back."

"Deal," he sighs, "goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, dear doctor."

He hums quietly until Paul falls asleep a few minutes later, but Hugh's brain won't shut off. Landry's footsteps pass by the tent every ten minutes, regular as a chrono, and he stares up at the canvas. _There's something off about Lorca,_ he thinks, stroking Paul's hair gently, _need to keep an eye on that. For both our sakes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is a healer, and I can only imagine how off-kilter Lorca's attitude would feel. This is my headcanon for why Lorca was so quick to separate Paul from Hugh's care, because he'd already had a prior encounter with Hugh's protective nature.


	48. Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after “If Memory Serves” and before “Project Daedalus”.

Paul’s heading off shift when his PADD dings. He waits until the turbolift doors shut before tapping the screen to check. The message is brief, and he frowns as he reads:

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Just got this, meet you there. _

_>>Forwarded message _

_[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Can you grab Stamets?_

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Game night cancelled. We have a Situation, need Stamets and Dr. C if you can. Obs H._

The communication is unsettling for multiple reasons, the most obvious being that he and Hugh aren’t exactly on speaking terms. More to the point, Paul’s been avoiding him since he moved out, down to taking new routes to Engineering and eating at odd times just so they don’t cross paths. He tells himself it’s for Hugh’s sake, but it’s really so that he doesn’t end up breaking down in public.

Detmer and the rest of the Bridge crew are more than aware of it all, so for her to ask for them both isn’t just Keyla being forgetful. Sighing, he orders a new destination and types out as brief a response as he can manage.

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENG] Any idea what it’s about?_

The turbolift changes direction with a barely perceptible whir, and he taps his foot impatiently.

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR-MED] Your guess is as good as mine._

The last Situation involved one of the junior officers badmouthing Owosekun, and he isn’t keen on a repeat. Detmer’s euphemism had stuck, becoming code for a serious rather than purely social off-duty gathering.

Game Night had been Tilly and Detmer’s instigation, with a lot of support from Airiam. Though he’d never admit it, Paul suspected it was also an excuse to lock themselves in one of the lounges and gossip. It’s not something he and Hugh used to join together, usually spending a mutual evening off ensconced in their quarte-

He quickly shunts that thought aside before the memories of happier times _(curling up together to watch a holonovel, Hugh’s hand warm on his thigh; arguing about opera until spirited debate turns to passion)_ can assault his already fragile equilibrium.

Because the universe has a perverse sense of humor, he meets Hugh coming from the other direction, fingers accidentally brushing a white sleeve as they turn down the corridor to Observation Lounge H. He cringes back, too late to prevent his body’s instinct to reach for the man next to him. There’s no doubt in his mind that Hugh picked up on it too, but he stares resolutely ahead and pretends it didn’t happen.

The panel requests a voiceprint for entry, something Game Night hasn’t ever required before. They share a frown as Hugh identifies them both, waiting on the system to process. Hearing Hugh say his name in a completely dispassionate tone hurts, and he studiously examines the toes of his boots until the doors open.

Lounge H is so unpopular that the odds of anyone else wandering in are slim to none even without a lock. Their friends apparently need them both, and Paul clamps down on the fear that they’re planning to stage some sort of ill-advised intervention.

It’s a smaller room, well off the main corridor and seldom used due to its less than ideal view of the starboard exhaust ports. Tonight, the kadis-kot table and tri-dimensional chess boards sit abandoned. Instead, Detmer, Rhys, and Owosekun sit huddled around someone on the couches in the corner. Judging by Burnham’s concerned expression where she’s seated on the coffee table facing the couch and the shock of red hair visible over Detmer’s shoulder, it’s Tilly in the middle of the pile. 

As they approach, Rhys looks up and beckons them closer. Tilly’s sniffling into a tissue, face flushed and hands balled into fists. She’s shaking her head, seemingly in response to whatever Detmer is murmuring. Paul’s concern deepens when they get close enough to catch her words.

”-tell us, but we want to help.”

Burnham scoots over to let them join her on the table, letting go of Tilly’s knee to do so and inadvertently getting her attention.

”...-sir?”

Her hiccup sounds raw and miserable, but before Paul can do much more than open his mouth, Hugh is already speaking.

”We’re off duty, it’s just Paul and Hugh. Remember?”

He waits for her nod, unsnapping his collar and pulling the zipper on his jacket open to toss it on a nearby chair. Paul almost misses the significant look from Hugh, too busy wracking his brain to figure out what’s going on. For a split second as they communicate silently, it’s as though nothing has changed, as if the last few months never happened. Reality comes crashing back in a moment after he catches on, shedding his own uniform jacket with its rank insignia.

Burnham’s side eye feels like a ton of duranium, clearly noticing that he and Hugh aren’t on opposite sides of the room. She opens her mouth, but for once Paul is saved by Tilly’s timing.

”Wha- what’re you...doing ‘ere?”

”Sorry Syl,” Rhys interjects, “thought I’d call for backup. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Paul isn’t sure how the two of them became backup, but that can wait for later.

_Shut up Stamets, there is no two of you anymore._

”Hey,” Hugh’s voice is the gentle tone he uses on frightened patients, “what’s wrong?”

Tilly presses her lips into a thin line before dropping her head forward onto Burnham’s shoulder. 

“...sn’t matter. S-sorry, I- I shoul- shouldn’t be. Upset. Should be used to. It now.”

She waves a hand vaguely in Owosekun’s direction, who turns towards them and he’s shocked by the barely-contained anger on her face.

”Her mother commed.”

Paul’s eyebrow climbs. The monthly calls from Tilly’s mother tend to leave her frustrated and (on more than one occasion) hurt, but he hasn’t seen this level of upset before.

”I think this reaction rates more than the usual.”

Just then, the door opens to admit Airiam, looking very much like she’s on a mission as she heads straight to the group. The table’s getting a bit crowded, and Paul spares an appreciative glance at Hugh’s biceps flexing before he can stop himself when Hugh hauls one of the other couches closer. Paul yields his spot to Airiam, grateful to sit on something softer and both relieved and disappointed to no longer have the heat of Hugh’s thigh pressed against his hip.

”I’m so sorry, Tilly.”

The synthetic pitch of Airiam’s voice conveys genuine sadness. 

Paul tries hard to keep his tone level, no point in upsetting Tilly with misinterpreted frustration.

”Could someone please explain what’s happening?”

Owosekun inclines her head, eyes flicking over to Tilly again.

”It’s okay,” Tilly mumbles, “you c’n say.”

Rhys makes a quick trip to the synthesizer, and Owosekun waits until he’s back with a glass of water for Tilly before speaking.

“Her mother called, and told Tilly that she’s pulling her out of the Command Training Program.”

Hugh flicks his eyes at Paul before he can ask the obvious next question, the_ can she do that?_ dying on his lips. Owo sees it anyway, and gives Airiam a significant look.

”At 1918, Bryce transferred a comm to Captain Pike with a diplomatic identification.”

Paul ignores the way Hugh’s shaking his head at him.

”Could it just be a coincidence? Ambassador Sarek maybe?”

”Doubtful,” Airiam replies at the same time Burnham shakes her head.

”My father has no reason to speak to the Captain until we have further information.”

“The signal was Earth-based,” Airiam continues. “I checked.”

”She’s coming here, and I told her not to but she’s going to anyway and she’s going to ruin everything, why can’t she just ignore me like she always did before...”

Tilly trails off with a moan before dissolving into a fresh wave of tears.

Airiam gestures, glancing at Paul’s PADD abandoned on the table behind Burnham. He nods, watching as her fingers fly over it. Burnham is being awfully quiet, he thinks, until he sees how completely impassive her face is. That’s never a good sign. 

“I’ve created a transcript,” Airiam murmurs and offers the device back. “It wasn’t an encryption, I overheard the Captain take the call from the lab.”

What he sees makes his blood boil, and the PADD clatters to the floor. Paul’s on his feet before his brain even catches up, but only manages two steps towards the door before Hugh grabs the back of his shirt. He’s oddly gratified that his former partner was paying enough attention to react that quickly, even if he’s painfully aware of the heat from his hand inches away from Paul’s skin.

”Let go, Hugh.”

”Not until you tell me where you’re going.”

Rhys retrieves the PADD, scans it, and hands it to Detmer. She takes a look, carefully transfers custody of Tilly to Burnham and Owo, and nods at Rhys. The two of them stand, skirting the table to join Paul.

”We’re going with you,” Detmer states, “he’ll have to listen to us.” 

”Paul, what’s going on?”

Hugh’s question penetrates the blood pounding in his ears, and he tries to stay calm enough to speak, pitching his voice low to avoid upsetting Tilly further. 

“Airiam heard her tell Captain Pike that she feels her daughter has misled him into believing she’s suitable for command, and she is too emotionally unstable and lacks the resolve necessary to ever be responsible for anyone else’s life.”

Burnham gently releases Tilly’s hands and tugs Airiam’s elbow until she too stands, leaving Tilly clinging to Owo.

”Airiam,” she asks quietly when they’re a foot away, “what exactly did the Captain say?”

“He said that it was a very serious matter and he looked forward to discussing it with her in person, particularly since she’s invoking Medical Reg 14/Delta.”

“Fuck.”

It’s an extremely rare public use of profanity, and Paul’s head whips around to stare at Hugh. 

“She’s coming here to convince him that her daughter should be relieved of duty and sent home. And she plans to use her diplomatic immunity to bypass the required psych evaluation.”

His fist tightens abruptly before he lets go of Paul’s shirt, rolling his shoulders in a way that suggests he’d really like to punch something. Or someone. 

”Come on.”

Detmer turns towards the door, the other three on her heels, when Burnham catches her shoulder.

”Wait.”

“Why?”

Beside him, he can feel Hugh radiating protective anger, the kind formerly reserved for anyone who came after Paul. 

”We would be just as guilty of a breach of propriety if you go directly to the Captain.”

”Michael,” Detmer sounds like she’s speaking through clenched teeth, “to hell with propriety. He didn’t send it to his ready room so it’s not technically a private conversation.”

”I mean, it could negatively impact your records, regardless of how warranted your anger is.”

Rhys crosses his arms.

”You have a better idea?”

”I-“

_**”Ensign Tilly, please report to the ready room.”**_

They all flinch when Captain Pike’s page comes through, but Tilly jerks as if she’s been hit by phaser fire.

”Tilly...”

Hugh is at her side in a couple of long strides as Tilly struggles to her feet and turns a sickly pale, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and reaching for her wrist to check her pulse. Her other hand is limp in Owo’s grasp, and she starts hyperventilating.

”Ohgod ohgod she’s here and I can’t stop it, I can’t stop her I can’t, I can’t-“

”Breathe,” Hugh is in full doctor mode, “Tilly, I need you to slow down. That’s it, slow breath in, slow breath out.”

“I- I’m. I don’t. Have to.”

”I’m about to beam you straight to Sickbay-“

”You can’t! She’ll- she’ll tell Captain Pike it’s proof that I can’t, I-“

“Tilly, your heart is beating too fast and if you don’t- medical, transport two to-“

”Belay that,” Michael looks far too calm, “it'll be okay. Come on Tilly, we’ll all go with you.”

“Michael...?”

”Trust me, Tilly, you want to be there.”

”Promise? Don’t lie to me, Michael, I can’t take it, not today, not right now.”

”Yes.”

No one moves as Michael taps the comm panel on the wall and acknowledges the summons. If anyone on the bridge thinks it’s odd that Tilly isn’t responding directly, they don’t say anything.

”Airiam, Owo, Rhys, you go ahead and check the hall’s clear.”

She’s using the command tone, the one Paul imagines she learned from Philippa Georgiou. There’s something galvanizing in her confidence, and he wonders if he’s seeing the rising star she was as the Shenzhou’s first officer. The three of them nod, and are gone out the doors a moment later.

Michael grabs their discarded jackets off the chair and turns to follow.

“Paul.”

His focus shifts from Michael to where Hugh is holding Tilly’s elbow, and he moves to the opposite side, tucking her other hand in the crook of his arm. 

“Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, hating the way her tiny smile wobbles before collapsing, “Michael says it’ll be okay. Lets get you up there.”

********

Old habits never vanish, he muses sadly as they move towards the turbolift, strides perfectly in sync with Hugh’s while he keeps up a soft one-sided conversation with the woman between them.

A half-step behind, Detmer is still arguing with Burnham.

”We can’t let her get away with it,” Detmer spits out.

“I’m not suggesting that.”

”Then what?”

Paul glances over his shoulder to see Michael smiling slowly, and it’s not a nice expression.

“All of the ambassadors and lead diplomats are currently supposed to be on Vulcan for a Federation Council meeting. I’m sure my father would not be pleased to hear that one of them has left the closed session and travel to a ship where her daughter is stationed without an official reason. It would create the appearance of a very unprofessional conflict of interest, particularly since her daughter’s commanding officer has not agreed.”

Airiam, Rhys, and Owo are nowhere to be seen, but the turbolift is open and waiting.

”Fourteen/delta requires concurrence from the patient’s commanding officer,” Hugh picks up the thread once the doors close after casting a worried glance at Tilly’s distant stare, “as well as a medical record with substantiated evidence of diminished capacity.”

”But she’s a diplo-“

Burnham raises a hand, cutting Paul off.

”It doesn’t matter. Without the Captain’s agreement, it can’t be used as a reason to breach the closed session. And I see no transmission indicating that he’s submitted any request, as well as the fact that Captain Pike has no reason to believe it.”

”So, where does that leave us?”

”I trust the Captain on this one. He wouldn’t have let Airiam hear it unless he wanted us to know. And he wouldn’t want us to know unless he also plans to ask for our assistance.”

The turbolift stops, doors opening into the short corridor leading to the ready room.

Tilly stops two steps away from the ready room doors, sniffling once and wiping her hands over her face. She frowns, taking in the way they’re hovering.

“Are you all...coming in with me?”

Michael only smiles, tapping the panel next to the door.

”Of course.”

Pike’s acknowledgement is immediate. 

”Come.”

Tilly squares her shoulders, and the doors open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began as a lighter tale of everyone going into full protective mode when Tilly has her heart broken, and it evolved into a whole lot more. Not 100% happy with the flow, and still trying to figure out how to write a second part.


	49. Supposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during “Choose Your Pain” after Michael takes Hugh to Engineering to try and convince Paul not to use the tardigrade.

The spore bay doors close behind him, and Hugh shakes his head to clear it before heading off down the corridor. Burnham is intensely driven by good intentions, but he doubts she’ll be able to break through Paul’s focus on the drive. 

Waiting for the turbolift, he wonders what she made of their interaction. It’s possible that-

“Doctor Culber!”

As if on cue, Burnham jogs up behind him as the lift doors open. He holds the carriage, smiling and waving her in.

”No need to run, I’m not going anywhere.”

She slows to a fast walk, nodding gratefully as the doors close behind her.

”Medbay,” he orders, watching out of the corner of his eye as Burnham shifts in apparent indecision.

”Doctor.”

He doesn’t comment on her lack of a specific destination, wondering if she’s worked it out yet.

“Yes?”

”Back in Engineering. Lieutenant Stamets wasn’t receptive to my suggestion.”

”The Lieutenant doesn’t appreciate interference with his work.”

”Its not just that,” her frown turns thoughtful, “confounding factors. If I may, Doctor, he seemed almost...resentful of your presence.”

Hugh can’t decide if he should smile or groan. Instead, he settles on a wry glance.

“Not exactly.”

“Computer, halt turbolift.”

He turns to face her fully and can almost see the wheels in her head turning, like intricate Vulcan machinery. It’s a privilege to witness a powerful intellect in action, even if the issue isn’t vital in the grand scheme of things.

”Permission to speak freely, Doctor.”

”You don’t have to ask me for that, but I appreciate the intention.”

Her expression is a mix of bemused and something vaguely resembling impressed.

”Andorians don’t have tonsils.”

”Technically, they do have organs analogous to tonsils, but they’re vestigial at this point in their evolutionary progression.”

“Second, sir,” she levels an eyebrow at him and he smiles, knowing they’re on the same page, “I believe you’re the CMO.”

Hugh shrugs cheerfully.

”That’s me.”

”So...” the wheels are turning again, “you offered a reason which someone who has been on this ship ought to know at least one of the things you said isn’t logical.”

It could sound accusatory, but from Burnham it’s merely a statement of facts.

”Given that Lieutenant Stamets is the chief engineer, one would assume, even if he isn’t familiar with xenobiology, that he would know it to be false.”

He doesn’t reply out loud, but gestures for her to continue.

”Forgive me, but do you and the Lieutenant not get along? Nothing else explains why he would address you with a lack of respect, if only for a fellow officer, but also given your position on the ship.”

Ahh. Vulcan logic does have its limits after all.

”I can see how you would come to that conclusion, but no.”

“I...don’t believe there’s another conclusion to be made with the situation?”

”Computer, resume turbolift,” he orders, grinning widely.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything else for the twenty seconds before the lift comes to a halt. The doors swish open, and he‘s out before she can do more than open her mouth.

”Consider your observations from a different angle.”

”Doctor?”

He nods at her, stepping back out of range of the door sensors.

”It’ll make sense when you do.”

Her raised eyebrow follows him down the corridor.


	50. Suggestive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-only again.

“Hugh?”

”Mmmm...”

”Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

”S’okay, I was-“ _yawn_ “-waiting for you to get back.”

”I’m here now.”

”Mmhmmm. C’mere.”

“Still dressed though.”

”Don’t care. Long day, missed you.”

”Missed-“ _kiss_ “-you too.”

”S’good.”

”Yeah, it- uhhh....”

”Hmmm?”

”Hugh, is that a hypospray in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

”You’re lucky I love you, that’s a terrible line.”

”No, really, I mean...”

”Uhhh huh.”

”Seriously.”

”Wha-? Oh. Sorry love, forgot to take that out.”

”...okay.”

”I _am_ happy to see you. For the record.”

”You fell asleep with a hypospray. In your pocket.”

”I’m a doctor, this shouldn’t be surprising.”

”This is an actual cliché.”

“Could be worse.”

”Oh?”

”Like the time you had a specimen canister in yours.”

”How many times do I have to apologize for that? I didn’t _mean_ to get stella- spores on your crotch.”

”At least one more time.”

”Okay. I’m-“ _kiss_ “-sorry about that. No more mushrooms in bed.”

”Well...”

”...very funny. Dinner?”

”Sleep.”

”Nap? Then late night food.”

”Deal. Get back here.”

”Comfy?”

”Yes, but my pillow needs to stop talking.”

”Shhhh. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in forty.”

”M’kay.”


	51. Sloshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul, Tilly, and Reno get stuck in Engineering after being exposed to a variety of spores whose effect is analogous to alcoholic intoxication.

_“Sorry Commander,” _Michael’s voice is tinged with genuine apology,_ “Doctor Pollard says you all have to stay down there until the bio filters and air buffers are repaired. We can’t risk it spreading.”_

”...great. How la- how long will it take?”

His diction is starting to fade. This can’t be good.

”A couple of hours at least.”

”And what’ll happen to us?”

_”The spores you were exposed to have a moderate neurophysiological effect similar to alcoholic intoxication.”_

Tilly pauses in her pacing, staring wide-eyed at the comm panel.

”You mean they’re gonna make us drunk?”

_”Yes. The magnitude of the effects is directly proportional the degree of exposure. The effects won’t cause permanent damage, but will likely result in lowered inhibitions and lack of fine motor coordination. We’ll keep you updated on progress of the repairs.”_

He sighs, resting his head on the console briefly.

”All right. Thanks. Engineering out.”

“Look on the bright side, kiddo,” Reno’s voice drifts up from the floor on the other side of the console, “free relaxation time.”

He peers over to find her lying flat on the deck plates, ankles crossed and arms folded under her head.

”Join me,” she pats the deck next to her, “we can stare at the mood lighting and talk about why you keep trying to date assholes.”

Tilly gives him a side-wise glance, but he just waves her towards Reno. No point in trying to work if they’re going to be the equivalent of drunk. 

Space drunk? Spore drunk. Hmmm. Unlike Tilly’s suggestion that adding ‘time’ to any word made it sound more exciting, drunk was just...drunk.

”Room for you too, mushroom lord.”

”No thanks,” he shakes his head and gestures over his shoulder towards the stairs, “I’ll leave you two to your...gossip.”

”Don’t knock it till you try it. Suit yourself though. All right kid,” she turns to Tilly who’s gingerly making herself comfortable on the floor with her back to some crates, “start at the top with it.”

Paul walks across the bay and drops down to sit on the stairs, staring blankly into the spore cube and listens to Tilly and Reno discussing the merits of some-ensign-or-other. He’s got no reason to join them, and realizing that Tilly might not be comfortable talking about it with him in obvious engagement, it wasn’t hard to decline.

_Hugh would have loved it_, he thinks with a pang. Grief is his constant companion these days, running in parallel with the everyday business of investigating mysterious red bursts and trying to stay out of Section 31’s plots. It’s become such a part of him that it’s no longer even a sharp pain, just an ache that shadows every step.

Really though, Hugh would be sitting right there with Tilly and Reno, listening and laughing and offering gentle advice. He’d use his ability to read people to have a full list of potentially suitable candidates for her by the time they finished detoxing. Probably offering his shoulder for Tilly to cry on too, would let her mascara run over the clean white uniform. 

Paul’s watched it all. The first time he saw Hugh in full doctor mode, he knew the profession was a calling and not merely a duty (also...competency is a _major_ turn-on for him). He was the one people went to with problems small and large, for his empathy and understanding. Crew members would somehow instinctively know that Doctor Culber could be trusted, would open up to him. It resulted in Hugh taking on some of the most critical post-trauma cases, making house calls to check up on his patients, always with his endless well of compassion.   
  
He wonders what they thought, seeing Hugh with his wide smile and gentle hands, partnered with Paul’s awkward unease in social situations. Over the years, he’d run up against everything from confusion to bemusement to outright hostility, the last from the occasional person who sought to detach Hugh from him “because he could do better”. It’s a bittersweet set of memories, Hugh flying to Paul’s defense more intensely than his own. They may have argued on occasion, but he never had any reason to doubt Hugh’s commitment to their relationship.

_I should have asked him to marry me. We just weren’t ready yet._

Leaning against the railing, it feels like the deck is wobbling slightly. He’s already reaching for his PADD to check the local gravity controls when he remembers their situation. Paul checks anyway, confirming that the environmental settings are indeed all within standard operating parameters, and wonders how much worse it’s going to get. His fingers already feel clumsy and his vision isn’t so sharp either, so reading isn’t an option while they wait this out either.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the cool metal, focusing on breathing and trying to empty his mind. Predictably, he’s unsuccessful. Thinking about nothing reminds him of all the times Hugh tried to teach him to meditate, unable to quiet his thoughts. He’d even tried having Paul lie in his arms, cheerfully suggesting that maybe the place Paul claimed he felt most relaxed would help. It didn’t work, and Paul went back to covertly watching Hugh when he meditated, seeing the lines of his face relax and breathing slow. 

Paul’s the sort of person who tends to be focused either inwards or outwards; lost in thought or unable to ignore his physical surroundings. Today is very much the latter, down to the way the edge of the stairs are cutting into the backs of his thighs, and Tilly and Reno’s increasingly louder conversation. He can’t help but listen.

“...the Captain,” Tilly sounded about two drinks past the comfortably tipsy stage if they’d actually been imbibing alcohol, “...Capt’n Pike, more like Captain Sexypants. Ohmygod Reno, when he first came on the bridge n’I had to repost-reposin- move his hands n’I touched ‘em. He’s got beautiful nailbeds ‘n big hands and dimples Reno, _dimples_. When ‘e smiles...”

”You got it bad for the man in the big chair, kiddo.”

”C’mon C’mander,” he jumps a little at her cajoling tone, realizing that Tilly means him, “need some backup here.”

”Get over here Stamets, quit moping in the corner.”

He opens his mouth to deny it, but then he thinks, _what the hell, why not?_

Stumbling a little, he makes his way over, flopping gracelessly on the floor beside Reno who’s still lying on the deck and now has her boots propped up on a crate.

“Oh good. You can help me here. This is the kinda advice your mom should’ve given you, kid.”

Paul watches the sides of Tilly’s mouth turn down at the mention of her mother, and quickly steers the conversation away.

”Why are we discussing the Captain?”

Tilly’s not so much resting on the crate anymore as it’s holding her up. She’d gotten doused in spores, which explained why her symptoms were worse than his or Reno’s. 

“Isn’t he so fuckin’ hot? And he _looks_ like a hero, that hair I wanna touch it, looks so soft and every thin’.”

”Don’t think he’s Paul’s type, kid.”

”Why do you always call me tha’? M’not a kid, m’an ado- adult.”

“A bit too shiny and heroic, if you ask me.”

She’s too spore drunk to notice that Reno’s changed the subject, and ten seconds later seems to have forgotten it completely. Paul tosses a knowing look over Tilly’s knees, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

”...much as I hate to say it, Reno’s right.”

”Can we note the day and time where the mushroom lord agreed with me?” She pauses for effect, smirking when Paul rolls his eyes. “The Captain seems like a nice guy. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

”But he’s all silver fox an’ I would totally climb him like a tree. A sexy Captain tree, that smells good.”

He’s torn between amusement and a deeply awkward sense of hearing a younger sibling discussing their sex life. And since when did he-

_Oh for fuck’s sake, of course you think of her as family. _

They're both staring at him, and he realizes that they expect some sort of answer.

”Sure Tilly, he’s nice looking but he’s not-“

Abruptly, Paul realizes what he’s about to say. It hurts, but the spores make him not care about the pain, Tilly is family and Reno isn't going to make fun of him for this, and he thinks _fuck it_.

”He’s not as handsome as Hugh.”

”Tilly,” Reno’s voice gentler than he’s ever heard, “Stamets is the kinda guy...falls in love once, and that’s it. I didn’t see how they looked at each other, but I’d lay odds this guy here isn’t gonna even look at anyone else.”

She looks impossibly weary just then, and continues in a tone that says she’s not just talking about him.

”Prob’ly won’t for the rest of his life.”

They share a look full of understanding. Tilly’s frowning, but she’s focused somewhere in the middle distance. He’s not used to her doing her thinking silently.

”M’sorry,” Tilly suddenly sounds a whole lot less intoxicated, “you two just...seemed really happy together. Even tho’ I know I fucked it up by tellin’ tha Doctor ‘bout the side effects. S’just, tha way he looked at you, used to think, ‘f I could find someone like that.”

_He looked at me like I was the only thing he could see._

“You didn’t mess up, I should have told him. I- I thought I was protecting him. But it didn’t matter in the end.”

A hand lands on the fist he hadn’t even realized was clenched on his knee. It’s Reno, and she squeezes once before letting go.

Tilly’s eyes are large and sad, and he wishes he hadn’t brought it up, wishes he’d just let it be an exposition of her (slightly Command-obsessed) hero-worshipping crush.

”Of course it mattered. Let me tell you a secret,” Reno nudges Tilly’s ankle to get her attention, but it feels like she’s talking to him. “I’ll deny it when we all sober up, so listen. Things we do out of love, for someone else, even if it hurts us...all the what if and should have aren’t what’s important. It’s caring that much that you do it at all.”

********  
It’s close to three hours later when Doctor Pollard finally declares them and the bay purged of contamination. She, along with Michael and Pike, are waiting outside the doors when they open.

Paul doesn’t miss Tilly’s blush when the Captain catches her elbow as she stumbles on the threshold.

Reno shrugs off Doctor Pollard’s scan, declaring that she’s going to have dinner. He sighs, wondering if there’s a way to avoid the medbay without it being obvious. Too many memories there.

“Whaddya say, Stamets?”

”...what?”

He wasn’t focused on whatever Reno asked, but wishes he had been if only to avoid everyone’s attention homing in on him.

”Commander,” Pike’s watching him with mild concern, “Doctor, is he all right?”

She snaps her tricorder shut, tucking the probe back inside.

”They’re all fine. Minor dehydration, low blood sugar, but otherwise certifiable. I’d recommend they all eat something and take a day of rest just in case something changes.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Glad to see the spores at least don’t give you a hangover, but listen to the Doctor. Burnham, shift ended two hours ago, why don’t you head out now? Reno, Stamets, try to get some rest. That means out of Engineering for the night.”

Paul nods, watching as Doctor Pollard heads off down the corridor.

“Come on, Tilly,” Michael accepts custody of her from Pike’s careful hold, steadying Tilly’s wobbly knees, “I’ll bring you something, let’s get you settled.”

He waits until they’ve departed, knows Reno is watching him.

”What?”

”Let’s eat. I could use a week on Risa, but synthesized protein is gonna have to do. Coming with?” 

He can’t exactly say he was planning to go back to his quarters and hide from everyone’s concern. Well he could, but in reality he’s pretty hungry too, and he suspects Reno isn’t going to bring up anything they said earlier.

”Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a purely lighthearted look at Tilly’s obvious crush on Pike (can you blame her?), I swear! I don’t regret the opportunity to explore Reno’s more thoughtful and compassionate side, though.
> 
> Author’s secret: Time skip because I ran out of ideas to neatly bring it back around to humorous after the seriousness.


	52. Sore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sensual massage. Post-workout.

Paul picks up on Hugh’s groan the moment his back hits the mattress. He sets down the PADD, reading everything he needs to in Hugh’s body language.

”You overdid it at the gym, didn’t you.”

His voice is four parts sympathetic and one part chiding, and he knows it hits home when Hugh winces in a way that has nothing to do with how stiffly he’s moving.

”Maybe.”

Rolling onto his side, Paul sets a careful hand on Hugh’s chest, stroking the fabric of his pajama top. The pectoral muscles under his fingers, as delicious as they are to fondle - and he’s spent hours fascinated by the _power_ inherent in Hugh’s sculpted form - feel a little too firm when their owner is supposedly relaxing.

”I’m going to upgrade that to ‘probably’.”

Hugh does look genuinely miserable though, and Paul flicks his thumb over a covered nipple in consolation, rubbing teasing circles.

“Mmmm. Does this mean you’re not too mad at me about it?”

”Who ever said I was mad? I just don’t understand it. You’re-“ he gestures at the length of Hugh’s body, “-this. Already. Perfect.”

“Always work to be done, love.”

The wry twist of his lips suggests dismissal even as the way his lashes dip also says he’s pleased at the compliment. Hugh has a healthy sense of himself, but is also still flustered with Paul’s attention, even after all this time. He can definitely live with that.

”Why’d you push so hard today?”

His fingers wander over Hugh’s torso, tracing lazy patterns across his chest and stomach. 

“Couple of Ensigns were on weights, but their form was bad. I didn’t want them to get hurt, so-“

”So you not only corrected them, you also demonstrated proper form.”

Hugh’s smile grows more self-deprecating. 

“Yeah.”

Paul tugs at the hem of his shirt.

”If you’re going to get all worked up, I wanna at least appreciate the results.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but the shirt lands on the floor moments later. Without the barrier of fabric, he can see the visible swell in Hugh’s chest, the cuts between his abdominal muscles even when he’s at rest. He bends to place a series of kisses from navel to sternum, ignoring the way something below his waist gives a hopeful twitch.

_Down boy_.

He promptly belies the thought by licking an exposed nipple, feeling the solid bulk under his lips as he starts to suckle. The resulting shiver has Hugh arching into his touch, followed immediately by a loud moan that doesn’t sound erotic at all.

“Oh- fuck. Babe-“

”Sorry,” Paul pulls back with an apologetic grimace, “you okay?”

”Yeah,” Hugh groans, gingerly settling back down on the sheets.

”Roll over.”

”What?”

Paul already has a leg swung over Hugh’s waist, reaching for the nightstand on his side.

”Sweetheart, I don’t think I can handle sex tonight.”

He finishes rummaging in the drawer, holding up a bottle of massage oil.

”Who said anything about sex? Now roll over, let me rub your back.”

It takes climbing off Hugh to let him slowly maneuver his sore body, but once he’s sitting astride Hugh’s ass gazing down at the planes of his back, the view is completely worth it. 

He pours a puddle of oil into the dip of Hugh’s lower back, thumbs rubbing circles in the dimples there. 

“You have all night to stop that,” Hugh mumbles into the pillow, “feels really- owww!”

”Quit trying to push back, and relax, would you?”

”You need to put more pressure on the-“

”I don’t have a medical degree, but I’ll have you know that I’m a certified PhD in all things Hugh, and I know exactly what I’m doing. So quit squirming.”

As he speaks in mock annoyance, Paul’s hands are busy spreading the oil up the valley of his spine, fanning out over his shoulderblades. 

”That’s more like it,” he murmurs as the tension lessens just a little when he skirts the trapezius muscles, “let me get you there.”

Ten minutes later, he’s still working on Hugh’s back. His fingers are starting to cramp, but he keeps up even pressure, fingertips seeking out knots and putting years of physical experience with this man into practice.

Eventually, Paul can’t keep up the massage any longer, but he’s pleased with the progress. Hugh’s shoulders slump towards the pillow, and he’s pleased to see that they’re no longer being pulled tight together. He’s also thrusting a little against Hugh’s ass, but he’s only human and Hugh’s body is a work of art, not to mention the fact that his brain is interpreting the soft moans and appreciative noises as something else entirely.

He groans quietly, working his fingers open and closed as Hugh rolls back over underneath him.

”You okay, babe?”

”Mmhmm. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Paul can’t help noticing that Hugh’s half-hard too, rolling their hips together a few times for the pleasure of it. He’s not going any further, but there’s no reason for them not to enjoy a little tease.

Hugh’s eyes are half-lidded with drowsy relaxation, the frown of pain nowhere to be found. His lips curve in a lazy smile, and he brings his own hands up to rest at Paul’s waist.

”Sorry, still not going to be able to do anything besides lie here.”

He stills, checking the cap is firmly on the bottle of oil and wiping his hands on the sheets (they’re due to change them tomorrow anyway) before climbing off and kissing Hugh affectionately.

“I know, just playing a little.”

Ordering the lights off, Paul pulls the duvet up over them both, arranging himself to curl around Hugh’s side, minimizing the chances of his muscles seizing up again if he’s restless tonight. They share another few caresses, Hugh kissing Paul’s knuckles and palms before closing his eyes.

”Thank you-“ Hugh’s interrupted by a yawn, “-night sweetheart.”

”Goodnight, dear doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, totally possible to be slightly aroused and not have it lead to sex. The intimacy is what I was going for, but Paul’s only human and Hugh is attractive on *so* many levels.


	53. Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coital conversation about wants, specifically something Paul wants but Hugh is somewhat reticent to give, because he worries too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatant, non-graphic references to sexytimes.

Hugh’s still riding out the last waves of orgasm, higher functions floating several feet from where they lie tangled and panting on the sheets. Their hearts are pounding, Paul’s knees fallen wide and ankles resting on the back of Hugh’s thighs instead of where they’d been crossed above his ass until a couple of minutes ago. Paul has his arms wrapped around Hugh’s torso, hands rubbing over his back and sliding in the sheen of sweat on both of their skin. He’s also making the occasional soft sound of pleasure, shivering with aftershocks from where they’re still joined. 

Sated, Hugh nuzzles further into the dampness of Paul’s neck, unwilling to move despite the mess between them.

“...me.”

His brain sluggishly suggests that Paul might be saying something, but mostly he’s too content to do anything other than concentrate on the rapid rise and fall of the chest beneath his. He’s considerately keeping some of his weight off his partner, elbows braced to either side of his head, so it can’t be that Paul’s having trouble breathing. If he was too sore, Hugh would have a heel tapping insistently on his ass, so it’s not that either. 

He lifts his head enough to mumble, “s’that, sweetheart?”

Paul squirms a little, so he pushes up on his arms until they’re face to face. 

”I said, you’re usually more careful with me.”

That gets his attention. 

The evening hadn’t started well, Paul frustrated with failed drive tests that he took as personal failures. He’d snapped at Hugh about something inconsequential, the kind of behavior that should have evoked a (useless) reminder not to bring his bad mood home. Instead, Hugh had come off shift from patching up a set of cadets whose supposed prank led to the evacuation of two labs, and was running a short fuse too. 

_(“For heaven’s sake, would you for once consider that you’re not the only one on this ship whose job is frustrating?”_

_”You’re the one who asked about my day. So now you don’t want me to tell you?”_

_“I didn’t say that.”_

_”Then enlighten me, Doctor.”_

_”Oh for- I didn’t spend hours dealing with cadets completely lacking in common sense and nearly getting each other killed, to come home and deal with this.”_

_”What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_”Do I have to explain myself every time?”_

_”You know what? Fine. You don’t wanna listen, then come shut me up.”)_

They’d both known the “argument” couldn’t hold water, but it hadn’t stopped Hugh from marching across the room to slam their mouths together in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything else. Paul’s infuriating smirk was still pasted on his lips when he pulled back, but it vanished the moment his back hit the mattress. Momentary shock turned into primal lust as Hugh followed up by stripping in record time and nearly tearing Paul’s uniform off before climbing on top of him and pinning his arms to the sheets.

Hugh was most often a gentle lover, channeling his affection into sensual pleasure. Seeing the other side come out to play was rare enough that it always felt like Paul did everything in his power to provoke further display, straining to break free and maintaining a challenging stare. It was, to no one’s surprise, a losing battle against Hugh’s superior strength, and he moaned unabashedly as Hugh sucked an obnoxiously large mark into the side of his neck.

All things considered, it was probably the most physically draining sex they’d had in a while - fucking against the wall in the shower notwithstanding - and the fog clears from Hugh’s brain at the cold chill suddenly gripping his body.

”Fuck...I’m so sorry sweetheart, did I hurt you? I didn’t- are you-“

“Whoa, hey,” Paul’s previously boneless legs are now locked tight around his waist, not letting him pull out, “you don’t have to go anywhere.”

Hugh bites the inside of his cheek, taking a moment to actually look at Paul now that he’s halfway to sitting back on his heels. Paul’s torso is streaked with sweat and other fluids, skin flushed with evidence of arousal. There’s a series of purpling love bites scattered over his neck and shoulder, his normally neatly styled hair is in complete disarray, and the lower half of his face is pink with beard burn. He looks completely debauched, the picture of sin in Hugh’s fantasies as his swollen lips curve into a smile.

”I-“

”Hugh,” his voice is amused, “I liked it.”

”...what?”

”I wish you’d be rough with me more often. If you want, I mean.”

He blinks, letting the words sink in.

”So...this long and we haven’t talked about it before?”

Paul slides one hand off his back, curving his palm around Hugh’s jaw, reacting to the hint of uncertainty in his question.

”What I’m saying is, I’ve always enjoyed what we do together. No matter what we’re doing. And I love that you’re careful with me.”

”But...?”

Bracing his feet on the mattress, Paul rolls them over until he’s on top, both sighing as Hugh finally slips free. 

“But once in a while, it’s nice to know I can make you lose control. Like holding me down? Hot as fuck.”

”Okay- okay. So you’re telling me all the times in the past it felt like you were deliberately poking at my last nerve?”

The corners of Paul’s eyes crinkle in a conspiratorial smile.

”Not every time. But yeah.”

It makes a large amount of sense, especially recalling instances where arguments led to mind-blowing sex. 

“Babe?”

”Yeah?”

Paul’s fingers slip behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss, one far softer than those they’d been sharing.

”Why didn’t you ever ask me. Tell me. Before, I mean.”

”Because I know you. And you, dear doctor, are too worried about hurting me that asking didn’t seem like it would be enjoyable for you. Because you’d spend the whole time thinking too hard.”

He’s not wrong, but Hugh hates the idea that he might be depriving the man he lov-

“Stop it.”

”Stop what?”

”You’re thinking too hard right now. I don’t want to be hurt, that’s not what I mean. But when you get rough, it’s like you’re hungry and you want me to satisfy it, and- fuck, Hugh, you should see yourself. Your eyes.”

”...you’ve totally masturbated to that thought.”

”Obviously.”

They grin at each other in perfect understanding, but Hugh’s expression sobers shortly.

”You don’t worry that I’ll, I don’t know, accidentally-“

Paul’s already shaking his head before he’s even finished the sentence.

”No. Because I know you’ll always listen if I say stop, or if you think I don’t like it. I can be an ass sometimes-“ he smirks as Hugh’s eyebrows raise, “-okay, a lot of the time. And you’ll still come to bed with me.”

Hugh nods, reaching for the towel on the nightstand. They should shower, but he doesn’t feel like moving from where he’s warm and safe under Paul’s weight.

”Of course I do. But next time?” he waits for Paul to pause in wiping down their stomachs, “you don’t have to pick a fight for it.”

”Oh, I wasn’t planning on that. It just sort of tended that direction and I didn’t think it was a good idea to say ‘hey honey, I know you’re a little pissed off right now and projecting it onto me because you can’t tell your patients when they’re being reckless fools, but can you please fuck me until I scream?’ “

His dry delivery makes Hugh laugh, the last of the tension draining away. 

”Point taken.”

Paul tosses the towel in the direction of the bathroom doorway before snuggling down onto Hugh’s chest, retrieving the duvet with his foot.

“Do you want the dermal regen before we fall asleep?”

”Hmmm? Oh. No.”

”No?”

“I like it,” he murmurs, “just leave them.”

“Okay.”

They settle more comfortably under the covers and Hugh orders the lights off.

”Do you think we should do a list again?”

”Hmmm?”

Hugh’s questioning hum tickles the hair at the crown of his head.

”Like the one we had before we finally got on Discovery.”

”Oh. Huh. I thought we finished everything on it?”

”Well,” he nuzzles at the sparse hair under his cheek, “we still haven’t done it in the bay with my mushrooms.”

”Paul Stamets, are you trying to get laid for science?” Hugh gasps in mock horror, “As long as you don’t decide to stop in the middle to take readings or something. You sound way too happy about that.”

”I’m combining the two things I love most in the universe, of course that makes me happy.”

”I love you too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff got away from me again and demanded to be serious. 
> 
> My headcanon is that Hugh’s compassion and personality leave him with two tendencies for sex: sweet and sensual, or downright filthy.


	54. Sparkle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-If Memory Serves, Hugh is faced with reminders of his old self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a later chapter for When Sorrow Turns To Joy, but I couldn't wait to share it. Will likely make its way back into the story for the future, because I have plans for what's mentioned here.

He's going through the pile of belongings (it's difficult when it should be the easiest thing in the world to think of them as his), laying them out on the bed and handling them on autopilot. Hugh sets aside boxes with old badges holding his rank from Ensign to Lieutenant, wondering if he ought to send them to his mother as keepsakes. 

He's not thinking about it much when he lifts a small leather case off the bed. It's worn smooth and shiny with years of handling, and he flicks open the catch with his thumb, letting the contents spill over the sheets. A multitude of bits of jewelry tumble out, and he considers them numbly - his Starfleet Medical ring _(his parents bursting with pride at his graduation),_ a few pairs of cufflinks inherited from his abuelito_ (his worn, kind face smiling down at an eight year old Hugh, tiny hand held safe __as they walked through yet another museum)._ All things that meant something profound to the old Hugh, carried with him across thousands of light years and over two decades away from home. 

The velvet bag underneath them crinkles with real paper inside. He opens it with shaking fingers, pulling out the folded note.

> _For my dear doctor,_
> 
> _While you're off saving lives across the universe from me...keep these safe. My mom will have both our heads if you lose them._
> 
> _Love you,_
> 
> _Paul_

He stares down at the tiny stud earrings, their diamonds sparkling up from his palm. Paul's great-great-grandmother's earrings, made from her grandmother's wedding ring. A precious heirloom, passed from parent to child for generations in the Stamets family. And Paul gave them to Hugh.

He can't even wear them anymore, not unless he gets his ears re-pierced. It's a minor thing, everything else considered, but a wave of loss crashes over him. 

Hugh clenches his fist shut around them, ignoring the prickle of them digging into his skin, and lets the tears come.

Why does he have to feel _this?_


	55. Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s personnel file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A deleted scene from season 2 has Pike referring to Hugh as an extremely gifted doctor, one of the best in Starfleet, and I wanted to reflect that below.

>> Accessing Starfleet personnel file for Culber, Hugh

>> Working...

_Name: Culber, Hugh_

_Species: Human_

_Planet of origin: Earth, Sol III_

_Date of birth: December 27, 2210_

_Degrees: M.D. (specialty: trauma, general medicine, xenobiology)_

_Commissioned: 2236_

_Current rank: Lieutenant Commander_

_Assignment: Chief Medical Officer; U.S.S. Discovery, NCC-1031_

_Commendations and honors: Graduated magna cum laude (2236); Albert Lasker Basic Medical Research Award (2244); Helene D. Gayle Infectious Disease Research Award (2250)_

_Next of kin: Stamets, Paul (Lieutenant Commander, Chief Engineer, U.S.S. Discovery)_

_Partner: Stamets, Paul (Lieutenant Commander, Chief Engineer, U.S.S. Discovery)_

_Current status: Deceased, 2256 (Mission classified)_

>> Personnel file closed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assumptions: 
> 
> Using Wilson’s birthdate and real age relative to the time Discovery takes place, circa 2256. 
> 
> Assuming medical school still takes at least five years on top of any pre-graduate study at the Academy / Starfleet Medical.
> 
> The Lasker prize is currently the most prestigious award in medicine. Helene D. Gayle is a real life physician notable for her contributions to the field of HIV/AIDS (I thought it seemed fitting that in the future they would have an award in her honor).


	56. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting.

Paul is aware that his mouth is hanging open, cup halfway between the table and his mouth, arrested motion when reality defied expectation.

The humming stranger, who moments ago sat down right beside him, is watching Paul cheerfully. His eyes shine with affable good humor and mischief, his whole manner suggesting that he’s willing to continue humming until Paul says or does something to indicate otherwise.

”...you- wha-how?”

Why is he suddenly so unable to form words?

The man tilts his head and smiles, wide and uninhibited, brilliant white teeth and crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

An indescribable feeling washes over him, skin tingling with unexpected warmth. He’s acutely aware of the way the table is just a little sticky under his elbows, how his hair catches on the back of his jacket collar, the smell of coffee from the cup clutched in his hand. 

Something twists in his chest, not painful, but more like being unlocked, open to _what_ he’s not sure.

”Hi, I’m Hugh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough times for the world. Here’s hoping a little fluff helps.


	57. Shelter

Hugh wakes up slowly, sleep falling away into a drowsy awareness. It’s a rare day where they’re both off shift, and he hopes Paul’s chosen to actually take the day in their quarters instead of finding a reason to be in Engineering.

A less understanding partner might accuse him of being a workaholic and avoiding social obligation. Hugh knows better - Paul can’t stop the way his brain constantly turns over problems, suggests solutions, innovates. It overrides everything else, and that’s just how he’s wired. 

What he _can_ do, and that’s where Hugh gives himself space to be annoyed, is at least do that thinking in the same room together. It costs him nothing and does them both good if he’s frowning at a PADD and making calculations on the couch beside Hugh, or sitting on the bed while Hugh reads his own medical journals. 

Preferably, though, not during sex. There’s nothing more off-putting than realizing the moment Paul’s having a scientific epiphany when Hugh is enthusiastically going down on him. 

As he wakes up further, the heat pressed along his front tells him that Paul is still in bed. His pleased smile widens when he realizes that Paul’s tucked up facing him, arms folded to his own chest and head under Hugh’s chin. Paul’s face is buried in the valley of Hugh’s pectoral muscles, lips brushing his sternum with every breath, and Hugh gently smooths damp hair away from his cheek.

The war is still going on around them. Paul is being stretched to the limits of his brilliant mind by the demands of more, faster, better, and it’s slowly eating away at his ability to rest at all. Today, then, Hugh is going to cradle him close and let him sleep as long as possible. It’s an illusion, of course, but he can pretend that Paul will be safe - that they’ll both make it through this - if Hugh just loves him hard enough. And he plans to love him for the rest of his life.


	58. Shelter, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues from the previous chapter.

Paul wakes up slowly, gradually becoming aware again of the presence of his own body, his weight on the sheets, the space he fills. He doesn’t dream much these days - nightmares don’t count. Instead, he comes to with an immediate sense safety, the kind of feeling that tinges memories of sitting on his grandfather’s shoulders as a child, leaning forward precariously and _knowing_ Grandpa would never let him fall. 

The air is humid, breathed against the surface his cheek is pillowed on. It rises and falls in steady, even motions, and he shifts with it, burrowing further into the solid warmth. There’s something else he’s now faintly aware of beneath his lips - a vibration? - a regular, if muffled, thump.

A heartbeat.

Skin, the taste of salt-sweat with slumber.

Fingers combing through his hair, soft bristles against his forehead.

A familiar smell that makes him think of golden sunlight spilling over his face, of laughter and deep contentment.

Hugh.

Without opening his eyes, Paul locates one hand fisted beneath his chin and opens it to splay his fingers over the expanse of skin under his nose. 

_Thump. Thud thump._

His world tips slightly and he makes a noise of disquiet when his face is shifted away from its warm hiding place. The scratch of beard vanishes, replaced by lips pressing firmly to his temple, and his protesting whine trails off into a sigh.

”Good morning, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene in my head is all in a sort of hazy, soft focus that gradually sharpens as Paul wakes up. It’s such a small thing, but trying to capture this intimate moment in their tiny pocket of reality makes me happy.


	59. Suggestive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tilly just can't seem to catch a break with these two.

“Lieutenant Stamets? I finished those calculations we were talking about on the spore decay rate, and-”

"...Cadet?"

Tilly blinked rapidly as her very disheveled boss emerged from the lab, hair in more disarray than she thought his coif would ever tolerate even without his intervention, and eyes a bit glazed. Behind him, Doctor Culber followed him out with a twinkle in his eye that could only be described as smug. 

While Stamets seemed flustered, fumbling with the PADD clutched firmly in front of his hips, Doctor Culber merely nodded at her and placed a gentle hand at the small of Stamets' back to steady him as he swayed in place. 

"Sir, are you...okay?"

"Ummm."

"He's fine, Tilly. Just a bit of dizziness and a headache."

"Dizzi- okay. Right. Are you sure, sir? I mean, not that I'm questioning your medical opinion, you being the doctor and all, but is he okay to still be here?"

Doctor Culber glances sideways at Stamets, waiting for the man to respond.

"...no. What do you- No, I'm fine. Thank you, Doctor," he clears his throat, "Tilly. Calculations?"

Giving them both a cheerful smile - and Tilly really appreciated how natural it looked on him, instead of the fake professional smile other doctors seemed to have - Doctor Culber walked out of Engineering. 

"So I looked at the equations again, and I realized that maybe our constant needed to be different. Like, of course time is a thing, but since they're disconnected from our quantum reality, maybe that shouldn't be a constraint?"

Stamets frowned, staring off into the distance for a few seconds, clearly turning the idea over in his head. Then he held out his hand for the PADD, setting his own down on the console next to them.

"Hmmm...could be. But we'd have to account for the differential in- what?"

Tilly was sure she was almost as red as her hair, eyes flicking downwards and back up again.

"Uhh, nothing! Nothing, sorry sir."

"Okaaaay. So, we'll have to make a second set of equations that can adjust for- are you listening?"

”Ummm sir?”

”Yes?”

”Is that a ummm...in your- I mean, I didn’t mean to look but it was just _there_ and I wasn’t _looking_ looking, and uhhh oh god. Sir, is that uhhh something in your pocket?”

Paul’s eyebrows raised higher the longer Tilly spoke. He followed her glance down quizzically. A definite ridge ran diagonal from his groin nearly all the way to his hip.

"Oh. That."

Unzipping his pocket, Paul fished out an empty hypospray.

"Huh. Guess I forgot to give this back."

Tilly blurted something that sounded like, “ohgoditwasntimsorryithoughtitwas," before clapping her hand over her mouth.

"Cadet?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I mean, why wouldn't you have a hypo in your pocket? The Doctor probably uhhh left it and you put it in there and meant to bring it back to him later, but given how- uhhh, sorry. Sorry, sir, can we please keep talking about the equations?"

That was definite side-eye, but Tilly gritted her teeth and stared resolutely at the PADD until he resumed his earlier train of thought.

_Five hours left on shift. Keep your eyes above the waist, Tilly, and get your mind out of the gutter. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...for some reason this chapter ended up in a different verb tense. Oops?


	60. Seduce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comm sex before they’re reunited on Discovery. Absolutely filthy dirty talk, sexy times, and a side order of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild, consensual verbal domination, please skip this chapter if you're not comfortable with it.

_“...I want to watch you.”_

”Are you offering to return the favor, or is this just a private show?”

_”Oh sweetheart, this is definitely private.”_

”That’s not an answer.”

_”Do you really have to ask?”_

”No, but it stands to-“

_”Babe, would you shut up and take your pants off?”_

”Is that an order, Commander?”

_”Do you want me to make it one?”_

”If you want to.”

_”Hmmmm. What’s gotten into you today?”_

”Not you.”

_”...”_

”Sorry. Just, I miss you. And your dick, but you know that already.”

_”Yeah. Just a few more weeks though, love. Then you can have me every night, as much as you want.”_

”I’m going to hold you to that.”

_”I’m going to hold you. All night, so close.”_

”Promise?”

_”Yes.”_

”I hate the waiting.”

_”I thought you’d be too busy masturbating over the specs to your lab to worry about it.”_

”Oh, the bay is going to be amazing. But it doesn't kiss me or go down on me in the shower. As soon as we’re together, I’m fucking you on every flat surface in our quarters.”

_”Mmmm, I love it when you talk dirty. Our quarters. Think you can last long enough?”_

”Hugh, I’m probably going to come in my pants from kissing you.”

_"Might be better to get the first one out of the way quick, then we can spend a few hours making all of your fantasies come true."_

"Gonna pick me up and fuck me against the viewport?"

_”Mmmhmmm. Tell me more.”_

”I’ll- I’ll just. Ummmm...”

_”What?”_

”Are you touching yourself? You know how bad I am at this.”

_”You’re better than you think.”_

”I’d rather show you.”

_"Well hello there, are you happy to see me?"_

"Can I see some skin? Please?"

_”Oh. Oh, yes. Here- hang on...that’s better.”_

”Fucking...how hard are you hitting the gym, Hugh?”

_”Don’t change the subject.”_

”I’m not. Believe me.”

_”Focus, babe.”_

”You’re naked. All I can think about is rubbing off on your abs.”

_”That I could get behind.”_

”I’d rather you got behind me.”

_”Oh, we can do that too. But for now- I want your pants off.”_

”Or what?”

_”I want your pants off Lieutenant. Now.”_

”...fuck.”

_“I’m waiting.”_

”Okay. That better?”

_”Mmmm, yes. Back up a little sweetheart, let me see you.”_

”Like that?”

_”Oh, yes, I do.”_

“What now?”

_”We’re playing this tonight? You want me to tell you what to do?”_

”Only if you want to.”

_”Babe...”_

”Please, Hugh. I’ve spent all day dealing with incompetent engineers who think the sciences are separate and if I don’t get off tonight I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”

_“Okay. Okay...shhh, I’ve got you. I’m going to make it so good for you, sweetheart, but I want you to do something for me first.”_

”Yes.”

_”I want you to take the rest of your clothes off so I can see all of you, love.”_

”Okay. Hang on, I'm moving over to the bed.”

_”Perfect. Lie back for me? Fuck, you have no idea how sexy you are.”_

”Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

_”I mean it. I’m going to lick every inch of your skin, taste you. Then I'm going to mark up that pretty pale neck, pull you into my lap and play with your nipples until you're so hard it hurts."_

"...holy, fucking hell- oh, I want that Hugh. All of it."

"_I'll suck on them the way you like, use my tongue and flick them till you're too sensitive and I have to stop. Play with them for me, babe?" _

"Mmmhmmmm. Not the same, fuck, I want you so much..."

_"And when you can't stop yourself from rubbing against me, letting me feel what I'm doing to you, I'll push you down onto the floor. On your knees."_

"Yes. Please, I need...more, please."

_"I'll pull my dick out and stroke it right in front of you. See how hard you're making me right now, sweetheart?"_

"...yeah. Gonna give that to me to play with?"

_”I want to watch you suck me off. Put your fingers in- mmmmm. That’s right, fuck, your mouth is going to feel so good on me."_

"Make me take it."

_"That what you want? Rough you up a little, shove your head down on my cock? Pull your hair and fuck your mouth, use you."_

"Yessssss. More."

_"That- that thing you do with your tongue. I want that while you're sucking me."_

"Anything, you can have anything."

_"That's quite an offer."_

"Don't care. Just don't stop."

_"..."_

_"..._feels so good..."

_"Just when I'm about to come, I'll pull out. Want me to come all over that pretty face?"_

_"_No, I want...oh god...please, Hugh."

_"Oh. I know what you wa- what you want. I won't come down your throat, I'll push you down on the floor. Find that bottle of lube you put under the couch, open myself up for you to see. Make you watch me, hold your hands down so you can't touch."_

"...I need to touch you Hugh, please don't-"

_"Shhhh, it's okay sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'll let you touch me all you want, until I'm ready for you. You ready for me?"_

"Yes. Love watching you do that, oh fu- fuck-"

_"...babe?"_

"Sorry. Almost came."

_"S'okay. Want me to stop?"_

"Oh god no, keep going. I just want to wait."

_"Wait?"_

"I want to see you come first. You always...always take care of me."

_"Did you ever think- oh god, getting close- I like to watch too?"_

"Oh, I know you do. But it's my turn this time, when you've got me all spread out under you, watch you fuck yourself on me, let you use me, take what you need. As hard as you want, as long as you want, I'm yours."

_"Fuck. Gonna ride you till I can't last any longer, have to- oh fuck...have to touch myself."_

"No, that's mine. I'll jerk you off while you're riding me, make you come that way..."

_"Close, sweetheart... wanna feel you inside of me, filling me up, god, Paul, I need you."_

"Come for me, Hugh. Please. Come all over me, you feel so good-"

"..._fu- gonna come, baby..."_

"Yes. Yessss. Oh! Oh, fuck..."

_"..."_

"...unnhhhh."

_"Mmmmm, that's right. You're so pretty when you come."_

"..."

"_Babe? You still alive over there?"_

"Oh my god, that was good. Hang on- oh, wow, I didn't know I could still shoot that far."

"_I want to lick that cum off your chin."_

"Fuck. Hugh, you can't say things like that when I can't get hard again."

_"Sorry."_

"I miss you."

"_I miss you too. Just a few more weeks, and we'll be together for good."_

"Yeah. What time is it over there?"

_"0120, why?"_

"Hugh! Why didn't you tell me, I know you've got an early shift tomorrow, why did you let me-"

_"It's fine. I'll just make my cafe con leche extra strong in the morning."_

"Only you. I miss your coffee too."

_"Mmmm. I do need to- need to sleep now though, you wore me out."_

"We're getting old if we're stopping at one round."

_"Wait till I'm there."_

"Impatiently."

_"I love you, sweetheart."_

"I love you too. Little earlier tomorrow?"

_"I'll message you when I'm home for the evening, how does that sound?"_

"Perfect. Well, as much as me being here and you being there with all this actual space between us, can be."

_"Goodnight, love. Say hello to your mushrooms for me."_

"They're fungi, not mush- you did that on purpose."

_"No idea what you're talking about. Night, sweetheart."_

"Goodnight, dear doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **fans self** Paul may get tongue-tied and self-conscious, but I can only imagine that Hugh probably knows how to have the hottest comm sex.
> 
> Sorry for the long absence between posts! We're doing budgets at work, and working from home means I'm at the computer more than twelve hours some days which doesn't leave a lot of time to write Culmets. But stay tuned if you're reading "When Sorrow Turns to Joy", I've got at least thirty chapters planned.


	61. Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's last message for Hugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to believe that Paul would only record a message for his sibling. Text will be in a later chapter of "When Sorrow Turns To Joy".
> 
> Warning - I cried while writing this. Not a joke.

** _>> Recording message for Culber, Hugh. _ **

"Hugh...I lied. It feels wrong to tell you this now. By the time this reaches you, hopefully Discovery will have made a successful jump to the future. And I'm going to be on it. I hoped that maybe we'd get another chance, someday. We're just - hah - out of time. But uhhh, funny thing...okay, not funny at all, and you're probably going to be upset I didn't tell you before this. Or maybe not, because I'm supposed to be moving on. Okay, I didn't lie, but what I meant was...I do want you to be happy. Fuck, that's the only thing I want some days. When you- when you died, I thought I couldn't live without you. And I'm not sure what I was doing was living. But then I got you back, and I know I'm really bad with figuring feelings out sometimes. Just- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I was being selfish and just wanting you to be exactly the same. So I could apologize and make it all right, because while you were gone, the only thing I could think about was how I could have done so much better. I hope you knew that you were so much more important than anything else. Just...please, Hugh, take care of yourself. I'll uhhh - hah - see if I can check up on you on the other side. This is the last time I'll be able to talk to you...if you're still listening, I'm going to do one more selfish thing. And I hope someday you'll forgive me for it. I still love you. I will never love anyone else the way I love you, and the years we had together were the happiest in my life. You made me such a better perso-"

_"Commander Stamets, status update?"_

** _>> Recording paused. Message is unfinished, do you wish to review?_ **

"Computer...del- no. Save message. Fuck, he doesn't need you ruining his life now."

**>> _Message saved._**

_"Commander Stamets, are you there?"_

"Yes. Sorry, I'll- yes. We've uhhh almost got the crystal completely charged. Ninety-one percent."

_"Thank you Commander. Bridge out._

"Computer, record new message to Culber, Hugh."

**>> _Recording message for Culber, Hugh._**

"Hi Hugh, I uhhh don't know if you knew what we were doing, I just hope you're safe on Enterprise. Take care of yourself. And thank you, for...everything."

"Computer...send message."

**>> _Message sent._**


	62. Savory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real plot, just some adorable sleepy Paul with an indulgent Hugh and confused Tilly.

“Are you going to finish that?”

”-what?”

Paul blinks slowly a few times, bringing his focus back outwards to find Tilly’s concerned face peering at him closely.

”Sorry, I was...thinking.”

”About- uhhh, sorry.”

He sighs, struggling to keep his attention focused on her.

”You were saying?”

Tilly glances down to the left, and he follows her eyes to his fork poised in midair over the potato salad on his plate.

“I was just wondering, sir, if you were going to finish that?”

Hmmm. That’s a new one, Tilly’s never been brave enough to ask for his food before. He’s too tired to think much on it though, and sets the fork down with as much care as possible, ignoring the way it clatters against the dish.

”Go ahead,” he mutters, pushing the plate across the table towards her, “m’not...yeah.”

Tilly boggles at him like a landed fish, mouth hanging open. The silence drags out as she stares at the potato salad like it’s a live concussion grenade.

”Oh! No, umm wow, that would be- I totally wouldn’t- that wasn’t...I just meant, Lieutenant,” her cheeks flare red with self-conscious embarrassment, “you’ve barely touched it and I know you didn’t eat earlier because we were re-wiring the auxiliary regulatory console, and you told me to go have a snack but you were in exactly the same place when I came back and said you weren’t hungry-“

He waves his hand vaguely between them, cutting off the flow of words.

”You don’t want my food.”

It’s a statement, but he ends on an upward lilt, trying to figure out what’s happening.

”No sir, I mean I’m sure it’s tasty but uhhh I don’t really eat potatoes, not since- well, this is going to sound weird, but when I was in fourth grade my mother told me-“

”Cadet! Do you mind if I join you?”

Both of their heads turn at the question, and he struggles to focus on the expanse of white stretched over a broad chest and a pair of warm-skinned hands holding a tray with a steaming mug and plate of pasta.

Oh. 

His body sways a little, unconsciously yearning towards the solid body standing beside him. 

“What? Oh, of course, I mean no, you’re welcome to join us Doctor Culber.”

Hugh smiles broadly, setting his tray down and sliding into the seat next to Paul. The line of heat from shoulder to knee where Hugh presses up against him is nice, and he leans into him.

He and Tilly are exchanging pleasantries, but he’s not paying attention. Instead, he frowns down at Hugh’s tray.

”...since when do you like carbonara?”

”I don’t,” Hugh nudges him with his elbow when he lists a little too far off-center, “but you do.”

Without another word, he trades plates between them and digs into the heretofore untouched pile of potato and boiled egg with cheerful relish.

Tilly’s giving them the landed fish look again, but he’s too tired to wonder why. The steam from the dish is drifting upwards, redolent with the aroma of black pepper and Parmesan. His stomach, previously unimportant, growls audibly, and is Hugh smirking at him? The pasta smells too good to worry about that though, and he twirls up a huge forkful, appetite making itself known.

Flavor bursts across his tongue, rich cream and smoke, and he groans unashamedly. 

“Sir...Doctor, he- he wasn’t hungry I thought? How-?

Hugh wipes a smear of mayonnaise off his lower lip and subtly adjusts his posture to rest a supportive hand at the small of Paul’s back. 

“Just tired,” Hugh’s hand is rubbing circles over the base of his spine, distracting but welcome, “fettuccine carbonara, works every time.”

He leans over the table with a conspiratorial smile, setting down his own fork.

”Thanks for trying to get him to eat earlier though.”

Paul narrows his eyes, although they’re half-closed as it is and the effect probably isn’t very intimidating.

”Are you two conspiring against me and not even behind my back?”

”Uhhh...”

”Generally, yes.”

”Hmph. I should- “ he drops his head onto Hugh’s shoulder on the pretext of looking at his tray, “wait, is that...?”

His partner passes over the plate of garlic toast without comment.

“I hate it when you do that,” he grouses around a mouthful of bread.

”No you don’t.”

He’s busy chewing and can’t do more than shoot Hugh a side-eye that’s more affectionate than anything else, but mentally shrugs and takes another huge bite, dusting crumbs off his fingers. 

Tilly will just have to deal with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Hugh sitting on Paul’s left, to be able to eat left handed and leave his right hand free for those little touches.
> 
> This started out as writing Paul with no appetite after losing Hugh, but I’ve been writing so much angst I needed some fluff.


	63. Shocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s briefing on how to rescue Tilly is interrupted by an unwelcome visitor.

“She was taken into the mycelial network against her will.”

Drawing a breath to begin the next sentence, he’s interrupted by the hiss of turbolift doors opening. Michael. There’s someone taller, male next to her, but he’s not paying attention. She’ll be able to follow the explanation about transference. 

Why is everyone looking at him like-

Oh.

When he sees who else is in the lift, everything just...stops.

Iron bands strap themselves around his chest, squeezing tightly. Things he’s able to somewhat successfully shut out by concentrating on his science come flooding back in.

The _absence_ at his side that still surprises him every time he turns in search of a familiar presence. 

Reaching across the bed in the dark and encountering only cold sheets, not warm skin.

The other side of the sink clear of the usual scatter of items, no wet towel carelessly slung over the edge.

No one waiting up for him at the end of a long day, sprawled asleep over the couch with a PADD in their lap.

Flinching a little every time he sees a wide, bright smile, because none of them are _right_ anymore.

Pike clears his throat softly, shattering the icy stillness.

“How do we get her back, Mister Stamets?”

The Captain’s face is set in sober concentration, but there’s gentle understanding in his eyes as he pulls focus to the center seat, giving Paul a few seconds to compose himself.

_Tilly_, he thinks, _you can do this for her. _

_You have to find her. _

_You can’t lose her too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-watching “Saints of Imperfection” and fixated on the look Paul gives Tyler when he comes into the bridge. Once again, Anthony’s acting skill is top notch; he conveys more with his face than others do with an entire monologue.


	64. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mishap during a heated moment.

"...oh god, yes- yeah, so good, right there-"

"Fuck, Hugh, I'm gonna..."

"Yes, yessss- owww!"

"FUCK!"

Hugh's brain takes a moment to catch on that Paul's yelp into his ear is a cry of pain and not pleasure, and the sudden stillness. Paul's dropped his head between Hugh's shoulder blades, body landing heavily on his back, and his grip on Hugh's wrists increases from exciting to uncomfortable.

"...babe, what's wrong?"

He wiggles his hands a little, relieved when Paul releases them. The harsh panting behind him is worrying, as is the definite sensation of previously enthusiastic interest going soft. 

"Sweetheart?"

Still no answer. Frowning, he pushes up off the sweat-soaked sheets, pulling his face out of the pillow and getting his elbows underneath his chest to roll Paul off of him. His partner lands on the bed with a groan, and the sight that greets him when he turns is alarming. 

Paul's eyes are squeezed shut, moisture clinging to his lashes, and he's cradling his right forearm against his chest. Whimpers of pain slip out between breaths. 

For once, the doctor and concerned lover aren't in conflict with each other. Arousal forgotten, Hugh immediately reaches for the tricorder on the nightstand with one hand while resting the other gently on Paul's shoulder.

"Paul? What's wrong?"

"...hurts..."

Hugh lets go of him to pull the scanner out and runs it quickly over Paul's right arm. There's increased blood flow, but nothing too far off baseline as to be alarming, and the augment seems to be functioning normally. 

"Sweetheart, talk to me."

Paul bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

"You're scaring me, please, tell me what's wrong."

The distress in his tone must register, because Paul's eyes slowly open and he tries to focus on him.

"-elbow."

"What?"

"...your elbow," he gasps out, "the augment, hit me- fuck, it really hurts."

Oh. Fuck.

Hugh had been pretending to struggle underneath Paul (because they both knew if he actually wanted to break free, it wouldn't be difficult).

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize..."

Paul's breathing is gradually slowing, returning to something closer to normal.

"S'okay. I just- wasn't expecting that."

Very carefully, he tugs Paul's hand away from his forearm, looking at the augment. The scanner didn't pick up any problems, but visual inspection helps settle the knot of worry in his stomach. 

"I'm sorry. I should have been more careful."

Paul sits up, reaching for Hugh's hand and squeezing. It might have been an accident, but he still feels terrible.

"Really, it's okay. Just give me a minute, and we can-"

"Babe," he rests a finger on Paul's lips, "we don't have to."

"I know that, but..."

Hugh quirks a half-smile, looking down conspicuously.

"I don't think either of us is in the mood for that."

"...yeah. Okay."

"Sor-"

Paul cuts off his next apology with a kiss. 

"Quit apologizing. We just have to be more careful next time." 

Hugh closes his eyes for a moment, resting their foreheads together. He lets the silence stretch out for a few breaths, willing his own pounding heart to calm. The cool air is starting to make sweat dry on already sticky skin, and he can think of one thing that might help them both feel better.

"I know. Shower? Let me make up for hurting you?"

"Hugh...you really don't have to be sorry. I mean, it was bound to happen sometime."

"Still," he tugs gently on Paul's hand, pulling him off the bed, "...come on, let me look after you."

"Wash my hair?"

"Anything you want, babe."

Paul pauses in the bathroom doorway, some of the mischief in his eyes from earlier that evening returning.

"You know what this means though."

"What?"

"Next time, I'm tying you down."

"Deal."


	65. Stumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s thoughts as Tilly and Nilsson take him to the medbay during the finale.

There’s shrapnel sticking out of his chest.

Breathing doesn’t hurt; breathing is absolute agony, white-hot lances of pain with every attempt, like he’s being crushed.

”You’ll be okay, Commander, just a little further, we’ve got you, you’ll be okay-“

Tilly’s voice filters in past the haze that’s been closing further in on his vision ever since he attached the final panel on the suit. The familiar nervous patter has taken on a coaxing quality, but there’s also a hint of steel beneath it. 

Blue. 

Tilly’s voice is blue. 

He called her incandescent before - she glows with it, her sense of purpose and faith in others - but this is like waves breaking on the shore of a jagged cliff, cool and soothing.

He wishes he could get enough air to tell her how proud he is that she’s found her command voice.

They stumble as his feet catch on the deck, and there’s a very alarming numbness taking hold of his limbs. He’s been forcing himself not to look down, to try to ignore the squelch and fresh heat running down the front of his uniform when he coughs.

Tilly’s talking again, but she sounds much more frantic, leaning around him to say something to Nilsson. 

He watches her lips move, but he can’t make out many of the words over the pounding in his head.

“-medbay- Doctor-“

_Doctor_.

Oh.

They must be taking him to Hugh, right? 

Hugh can fix him, he always does, putting Paul back together even better than before.

He’ll make it good as new, and Paul will be able to get back to Engineering to make sure that the ship holds together while Enterpri-

Enterprise.

_”Once the Enterprise catches up with us, I’ll be joining them.”_

No. 

How could he have forgotten?

Hugh isn’t going to be waiting for him this time, with his gentle, capable hands and a sharp word about being more careful.

Hugh isn’t ever going to be waiting for him again.

”Commander?”

The metal in his chest looks like it’s hit him in the heart. It would be appropriate then, just a delayed physical manifestation of how it felt to smile and wish the love of his life happiness with someone else. 

“-ctor Pollard!”

The world tilts on its axis and he’s falling- no, he’s being lifted and laid on a biobed.

Nilsson and Tilly are having some kind of argument over him, at least he thinks they are judging by the way Tilly’s squeezing the hand she still hasn’t released. 

”I’m sorry, Commander...”

He tries to tell her that whatever it is will be okay, but his lips won’t move right.

The ship rocks again as it’s hit by weapons fire and his head lolls to the side, too heavy to move.

”...Paul?”

What?

Impossible.

This has to be some trick of the mind, an oxygen-starved construct of his dying brain meant to soothe him in his final moments.

He blinks sweat and soot and tears out of his eyes, trying to clear his vision, but the figure is still there.

Hugh is at his side, haloed in the glare of procedure lights in a darkened medbay.

”I’m gonna induce coma.”

No. 

If he closes his eyes, Hugh might vanish. And if he’s dying, he doesn’t want to give up this last comfort, even if it isn’t real.

”...everything, always, came back around to you.”

Surely his mind couldn’t reproduce the worry in Hugh’s tone, the furrow of his brow, in such exquisite detail?

“You go to sleep now. You let me take care of you.”

His heart has always been in Hugh’s hands.

Fingers curve around his jaw, warm and familiar.

”-we go together.”

He hopes with everything he has left in the tattered remains of his heart, that this is somehow real. If it’s not, well, there are much worse ways to die (to live) than this.

The last thing he feels is Hugh’s lips pressing a kiss to his forehead, the same way he’s bid Paul goodnight for years.

Paul smiles, surrendering to the pull of sleep.


	66. Symbols, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Hugh in the medbay with a duffel, but Paul leaves Engineering empty-handed. How did they decide what to take with them to Enterprise after the decision to destroy Discovery?
> 
> Part one of two, from Hugh's perspective.

_“...when Enterprise arrives, we will abandon ship. Evacuation corridors are being prepared. Section chiefs, begin checklist protocols for shutdown and initiate crew rotation. Enterprise’s estimated ETA is three hours.”_

Captain Pike’s voice is solemn but unshaken, and Hugh makes eye contact with Tracy across the biobed where they’ve been running diagnostics on a cadet’s malfunctioning cardiac shunt.

”You’re doing fine,” Tracy reassures the frightened woman, “just a simple repair, you won’t even have to go under.”

She reaches for another scanner, before looking back up at Hugh.

”Go on,” she offers a half smile, “I’ve got this, go pack.”

”I’ll be back in twenty,” Hugh squeezes the cadet’s hand reassuringly before turning away.

”Take thirty,” Tracy calls as he moves towards the door, “we’ll do shutdown when you get back.”

He doesn’t remember the walk to his quarters, but everything pulls hard into focus when the doors swish shut behind him. Anxiety rises up his spine, and he swallows convulsively, forcing it back down. There isn't time to indulge now, might not be for quite a while. He'll pay for it later, locking down his feelings like this, but given what's about to happen, that's probably for the best.

His duffel is in the wardrobe, and he sets it on the bed before rounding the room, opening drawers and cabinets to consider their contents. Once he’s completed the circuit twice, he examines the pile of things on the duvet, wondering how the important material possessions in his life wouldn’t fill the bag completely.

His opera solids. 

Two boxes containing his grandfather’s cufflinks and the few pairs of earrings he used to wear off-duty. 

A half dozen antique copies of medical texts and his three personal PADDs. 

The plaques inscribed with his awards and commendations, emblems mounted in transparent blocks.

A patterned throw that his abuelita gave him when he shipped out on his first mission twenty years ago.

Everything else is neatly stacked in the bag when he finally makes himself look at the last item sitting innocuously on a pillow. He checks the chrono - ten minutes before he has to start the walk back - and sits down on the duvet next to it, staring at nothing while he tries to bring his heart rate back down. 

It's a case the size of an old fashioned shoebox, a standard 'fleet protective container, but what's inside might as well be explosive ordinance. Hugh needs to try twice before he manages to place his thumb on the reader, confirms his identity with a shaking voice.

** _>> Voiceprint required for access._ **

"Hugh Culber, authori- authorization one zero two six."

_Why hadn't he ever thought to change it?_

The top of the case unseals with a small pop, and he pushes the lid up out of the way. Inside, data chips full of holoimages are scattered between small mementos and things gifted to him for anniversaries and birthdays that he couldn’t discard but couldn’t bring himself to think about on a daily basis. 

A miniature sphere etched with the continents of Alpha Centauri, a heart drawn around one of the cities. 

Buttons from his favorite pajama shirt, saved when the silk finally wore too thin and had to be recycled. 

A tiny stasis cube of cologne, sent to him during the war. 

Paul’s Academy ring in its box, safely wrapped in a blue dress shirt. 

Sighing, Hugh shuts the case again and lifts it onto his lap. It feels heavier than he knows it to be, turning to nestle it in the bag amongst the scant few other items. He zips the duffel shut with an air of finality, glancing around the room again to be sure he hasn’t missed anything, but the rest - uniforms, workout clothes, hand weights - are easily replaced. These quarters never felt like home, no sentimental memories attached to them. 

No memories made here.

Forward motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognize Hugh's access code?


	67. Stationary

“Computer, time.”

_”The time is 0245.”_

Sighing, Paul considers again whether he can reach his PADD on the nightstand without actually moving. His conclusion, for the fourth time, hasn’t changed; it’s a few inches too close to the other side of the table, and he’s not flexible enough to maneuver his leg up to use his toes to retrieve it.

Turning his head on the pillow, he contemplates the thing keeping him immobile more strongly than a restraining field. In sleep, Hugh’s expressive face goes still, laugh lines smoothing out and lips slightly parted. His partner is on his side facing Paul, one arm thrust under the pillow and the other heavy across Paul’s stomach. Hugh’s chin is resting against his shoulder, every exhalation tickling the side of his neck, and Paul’s left arm is squished between his own side and Hugh’s chest. It’s a little uncomfortable to be honest, pinpricks warning him that his hand is going to sleep where it’s sandwiched between Hugh’s thighs, but he ignores it in favor of using his thumb to rub tiny circles over a pajama-clad leg.

Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from changing his position in the middle of the bed or even getting out of bed altogether to get dressed and head down to Engineering and test his hypothesis. It would take a bit of delicate maneuvering, but he could detach Hugh from himself, reclaim his hand and carefully slide out from under Hugh’s arm, tuck a pillow underneath it instead. He might even be able to make it back to bed before Hugh wakes up and notices that he’s gone, and his dear doctor need be none the wiser.

Instead, Paul pulls the covers further up over them both and relaxes into the mattress. He’d come home after a double shift to find Hugh still gone, in surgery until almost midnight. Paul was already in bed reading when his partner dragged himself in, stumbling a little in exhaustion. Hugh was barely keeping himself upright, and from the looks of it would be losing the battle with both gravity and consciousness soon. He’d flashed Paul a hint of a grateful smile when he steered him into the shower, blinking slowly as Paul held him up and quickly washed them both, stood there docilely to be dried and dressed for bed. Hugh’s eyes were already closed when Paul handed him a nutrient drink, downing it in a few clumsy gulps before he was allowed to lie down. Once horizontal with Paul arranged to his liking, it hadn’t taken long at all for him to succumb to sleep. 

He looks down to where Hugh’s hand is fisted in his pajama top, traces over his knuckles gently. Hugh wrinkles his nose, making a sleepy noise of displeasure, and his arm tightens around Paul’s midsection. No, Paul isn’t going anywhere tonight, even though he’s itching to test out the new equations. Having a warm Hugh snuggled close is stiff competition for his science, even if he doesn’t make it as clear as often as he ought to. 

Yawning, he leaves a corner of his brain to turn the figures over, out of focus but working on the problem. Hugh’s rhythmic breathing is lulling him to sleep, and Paul goes willingly. He can worry about things in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so easy to imagine Hugh always taking care of Paul, but I like to think that sometimes it’s Paul’s turn to look after him instead.


	68. Separated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Hugh's farewell in the mycelial network.
> 
> Be warned - this one hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written as part of Hugh's dream in chapter 21 of "When Sorrow Turns To Joy", but ended up going a different direction with it.

"Did you know I loved you?" Paul's eyes are brimming with anguish, "I don't think I told you enough."

How could Paul think Hugh didn't know, when he could see it in his smile, feel it in his touch, hear it in the sound of his name? Hearing it was wonderful, but Paul never needed to say the words for him to know.

"You showed me. All the time."

It would be so easy, to give in and re-create the gentle intimacy of their bedtime routine. To draw Paul close and kiss and caress until the growing heat of passion consumes them both, to make love and forget about anything beyond the two of them. He's already dead, what should it matter if the network unravels around him, if the universe crumbles, so long as they're together? 

Hugh cradles Paul’s face in his hands, memorizing the familiar, beloved features. Curls his fingers behind Paul's neck, thumbs brushing his jaw, and swallows down a wave of tears at the familiar scratch of stubble dragging at his skin.

"I don't want to say goodbye."

"It's never goodbye," he murmurs, willing the words to be true beyond his own doubt, "isn't that what you've been trying to teach all of us? Nothing in here is ever truly gone."

Hugh smiles despite the overwhelming sense of loss, the mourning for the life they should have had together. There's a place in his chest that already feels hollow, but Paul needs to be strong, and that means he can't let his own grief overwhelm him in this moment. 

“I believe in you, Paul. I love you.”

He breathes in his scent one last time, gazes into his eyes, hoping he can see everything he means to Hugh in that look. Hugh's out of time to tell him how much he's loved, how Hugh cherishes each memory of them, from the mundane and routine to the night they spent watching the stars on Deneva when Paul asked him to be his partner. To explain how proud he is of him and all he's achieved, how his relentless pursuit of scientific truth fills him with a conviction that Hugh can't look away from. 

There aren’t words to express it, but maybe...

He tilts his head to the side, lips parting, and pulls Paul into a kiss. Pours everything he’s felt about this man for years into their mouths moving together, the love and lust and trust, the way his embrace makes Hugh feel safe. Traces the tip of his tongue over Paul’s lower lip, tastes him. They're so close, as close as two people can be but still remain separate. 

It's the most difficult thing he's ever done, letting Paul go. 

He has to.

Hugh draws back slowly, hands dropping away.

”Open your eyes...”

Paul vanishes, falling away from underneath his hands. 

He breathes out, exhale becoming a sob as the Discovery dissolves around him.

Alone.


	69. Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've made love and fucked hard and everything in between over the years, but sometimes sex is just comfortable and sweet.

They're lying in bed, Paul frowning at simulations on his PADD and Hugh doing the same to the medical journal he's reading. Neither of them has spoken in about ten minutes, but the silence isn't unwelcome, the only sound the occasional rustling of sheets or a contemplative murmur.

Eventually, there's not much more he can do to the sim without being in the lab with Tilly's help. Sighing, he sets down the PADD and flexes his fingers, wiggling his thumb to get the scrolling cramp out of it. Hugh is still reading, eyes narrowed as he peers closely at a figure in the article. From what Paul can see, it looks like some sort of complicated diagram of a distinctly non-human cardiovascular system, and he spares an indulgent smile at Hugh's dedication to healing others.

Hugh doesn't look away from the screen when Paul closes the foot or so of space between them, but he does let go of the PADD and raise his arm for Paul to settle comfortably against his shoulder. He flicks to the next article, now-free hand coming up to where Paul's head is pillowed on his bicep and burying his fingers in blond hair, scratching gently. Paul's eyes drift half-closed in contentment, working his own hand up under Hugh's pajama top to trace idle patterns on his stomach.

Flick. 

Zoom. 

Frown.

Hugh hums quietly, and Paul looks up, worried that he's disturbed his partner's reading. Instead of a reproach, he can see the frown relaxing ever so slightly. Interrupting Hugh when he has the this-is-important-medical-information expression would be rude, so he continues his caresses, following the lines of muscle across his torso. 

Paul admittedly goes a little mindless under Hugh's petting, world narrowed down to the sound of breathing and the feeling of skin under his hand, so he's not really paying attention when his fingers decide to start playing with the thin trail of hair leading from chest down to where it disappears under the waistband of his pants. The fabric is in his way, so he unties the drawstrings until he's free to delve beneath. Hugh's defined V-line catches his attention the way it has since the first time Paul saw him shirtless, fingers gravitating to stroke from hip to groin.

Flick. 

Rotate.

Sigh.

There's nothing he doesn't love about the sensory experience that is his partner's body. 

Flick.

Tap. 

Tap.

Hugh's so warm down here, heat rising from the smooth skin of his inner thighs as Paul's fingers travel over them, wrist just brushing crisp curls.

Flick.

Paul cups Hugh's soft cock, palming his balls and enjoying their heft.

Flick.

"Sweetheart."

He's pulled from the hazy drift of his mind by Hugh's voice.

"What?"

A quiet laugh accompanies the next exhale and Paul blinks, focusing on his face. Hugh's wearing a soft half-smile, gentle affection in his eyes as he sets down the PADD on the nightstand and tucks his hand under his head.

"You've got my attention."

"Hmmm?"

Hugh shifts the arm he's lying on, pulling Paul closer, and the movement draws attention to the way he's fondling Hugh's cock. 

"Oh."

"Mmmhmm."

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to-"

"I know," a kiss on his forehead, "I was done reading anyway." 

He's half-hard, just beginning to thicken under Paul's fingers.

"Umm. Should I stop? Or keep going."

Another smile.

"Up to you, babe. It feels good."

"Okay."

The hand in his hair nudges him forward and Paul tips his chin up to meet Hugh's lips, the kiss light and undemanding, setting up a rhythm of slow strokes. Hugh sighs against his cheek, mouthing at his ear and breathing quiet noises of pleasure into his hair. 

Paul loses track of time, hand moving steadily. Hugh has both arms wrapped around his shoulders, eyes mostly closed as they continue to exchange occasional kisses. By the time he's fully erect, he's pulled Paul up slightly to lick under his jaw, working a love bite into the skin. The feeling of Hugh's tongue lapping at his neck, the scrape of his teeth, mix with the steady stream of moans that eventually trail off into whimpers.

"Close?" he whispers into the air between them, already knowing the answer. Hugh's been leaking steadily, Paul's hand slick with evidence of his enjoyment.

_Not long now._

Hugh's lips pull away from his neck, head falling back on the pillow.

"Don't stop..."

Paul tightens his fingers and picks up the pace, feeling the shaft beginning to swell.

"Gonna come?" 

Hugh nods, eyes tightly shut.

_Almost there._

"Fuck-" Hugh tugs Paul into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as warmth spills over his hand. Paul works him through it, slowing as his hips jerk, until Hugh shivers and he lets go. He trails his fingertips across over-sensitive skin, sliding his hand back out of Hugh's pants. Hugh likes to cuddle after orgasm, so there's no getting out of bed in search of a towel, even if Paul did want to move. Instead, he wipes his hand on his own shirt and wraps his arm around Hugh's waist.

A few minutes later, Hugh's eyes open again and he loosens his hold on Paul's hair. He gives Paul a sleepy smile, sated and relaxed.

"Want me to do you?"

Paul takes a moment to consider the offer, gauging his own level of arousal that had slipped to the back of his mind as he focused on pleasuring his partner.

"Nah," he shakes his head, "I'm okay."

"Mmmm. Sure?"

Hugh's eyes are slipping closed again, and Paul leans in for one more kiss.

"Yeah. Sleep, I'll clean us up."

He waits until Hugh's breathing evens out and his hand drops to the sheets before climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom. His shirt goes into the laundry pile on the way, and he yawns, ready for sleep himself. It only takes a few swipes with a wet towel to clean Hugh up enough that he won't wake up sticking to anything, and he doesn't even stir when Paul works his pants down and off. 

Returning to drop the towel in the sink, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair mussed and eyes filled with satisfaction.

_Yes._

Paul orders the lights off and lays down, pulling the covers up over them both and fitting himself back against Hugh's side.

"Goodnight, dear doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I realized when going to write this that we've reached chapter 69. Oops?
> 
> I wanted to write something sweet but also completely unrushed without it necessarily being an earth-shattering scene of lovemaking. Settled on Paul getting so lost in the quiet intimacy of being with Hugh that he spaces out, and just enjoys touching Hugh's body because it makes him happy.


	70. Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reno can’t figure out what Stamets is doing in Engineering when the love of his life is back among the living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set vaguely just after If Memory Serves. Reno wasn’t in the mess hall, and so wouldn’t have witnessed Hugh’s altercation with Tyler. I’m compressing the timeline a bit.

Jett Reno is halfway inside a malfunctioning console when she hears the doors to Engineering open and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rolling onto one elbow, she catches a glimpse of blond hair, and frowns.

”What the hell are you doing in here?”

Stamets starts so violently that she feels bad for yelling across the bay at him, but the fact that he’s here at all is just...strange.

”Last I checked, I still work here.”

Reno rolls her eyes and hauls herself the rest of the way out from the console.

”Clearly.”

He turns away from her, punching something into the spore console with more force than necessary.

”Seriously, what-“

”Not now, Reno. I’m busy.”

Crossing the floor, she slings her toolkit up onto the console beside him and leans on it, arms crossed. 

“You’re off shift.”

”And...?”

He won’t meet her gaze, and from someone who she’s used to staring at her while they spar, that’s definitely not right. 

Time for another tactic.

”Wasn’t expecting time see you in here at all, actually. Why aren’t you all cuddled up with your doc, doing whatever it is you two do?”

Stamets’ habitually tight lips press together even further. He shakes his head as if to clear it and continues punching commands on the screen. From what she can see, the code is riddled with glaring errors, not the sort of meticulous care he always has even when working under pressure.

”Mind your business.”

His cheeks are flushed bright pink and even though she doesn’t have past experience to go by, Reno doesn’t think a post-coital glow would leave him this uptight. In fact, his fussily styled hair is still immaculate, no evidence of love bites above his collar. (Tilly still owes her a drink to wash that mental image out of her head, because hearing that Stamets regularly looked like his neck had been bitten is a thought she’d rather not have.)

She’s never been one to back off, and especially not when something is this...odd. Despite their verbal sparring, she’s grown to like Stamets. There’s no reason for him to be here when the recently resurrected love of his life is back. Hell, if her wife-

_Don’t go there, Jett._

“Thought you were making him dinner, doing the whole textbook romance thing.”

Stamets looks up at that, and just as quickly returns to staring at the screen.

”Who told you that.”

”Tilly.”

”Oh.”

The feeing of unease prickling between her shoulderblades turns into a full out sense of dread.

”Stamets, did something happen to-“

”He’s fine.”

That’s a relief. _But what else could it be?_

”Then what are you-“

“Would you just leave me alone?” 

She actually takes a half-step back at the vehement tone, thrown off balance by the unexpected outburst.

He snaps his head around to glare at her, but the facade of anger is barely containing something else. Stamets’ eyes are red, lips bitten raw, and as she watches, the lower one starts to tremble before he clamps his teeth back down on it.

Reno blinks a few times, brain processing what she sees. Then she moves closer slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away. He doesn’t, and she gives his forearm a gentle squeeze.

”Paul.“

What she’s about to say is lost as the doors open again.

”Reno, I need your help, something happened with Commander Sta-“

Tilly comes down the stairs at speed, pulling up short and actually windmilling her arms for balance when she trips over a few scattered tools, clearly not expecting to see Stamets there.

”Oh. Ummm. Commander. I uhhh didn’t really think, I mean, you’re sort of the chief so it’s your section, but I ummm. Sorry.“

Stamets’ eyes close briefly, and the hands still resting on the console clench into fists.

”Sir, I just...”

”I’ll be in the cultivation bay,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and walking briskly away.

Once the doors close behind him, Reno glances back at Tilly. 

”What the hell was that, kid?”


	71. So (Beautiful)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-explicit sexy times.

_So beautiful._

Paul isn’t sure if he’s managed to utter the words out loud, or if they’re lost somewhere in the fact that he hasn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in several minutes.

It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open when every movement sends hot sparks of _want-need-yes _up from his hips, but he has a much better reason not to close them.

Hugh is poised above him, bare skin streaked with sweat. This is one of his favorite positions, for more than the physical ecstasy. Paul’s intoxicated watching Hugh, the flex of his powerful thighs and stomach muscles as he bounces. His chest is heaving, panting for breath as he rides Paul, knees digging into the sheets and gripping his shoulders for balance.

One hand slips up to- well, _caress_ isn't the right word, not when the air between them is so charged with sexual hunger. There’s nothing delicate about the touch, but it still communicates tenderness, palm pressed to Paul’s cheek and fingers squeezing his jaw. 

Despite the raw passion, their bodies move together easily. Paul follows every bounce with a roll of his hips, rising up to meet Hugh’s ass coming down against his thighs. Hands slipping on sweaty skin, he tugs his lover forward just enough that the next thrust makes Hugh moan high in his throat, rhythm faltering while his body shakes with arousal.

This is the sight he loves most, Hugh lost in pleasure. He looks like an incubus, sex personified, all sculpted muscle and so hard that it’s all Paul can do not to roll them over and swallow him down. Instead, he turns his head to catch Hugh’s fingers with his teeth, drawing two into his mouth, feeling them drag over his lips as he lavishes them with his tongue.

He tries to follow when Hugh recovers enough thought to pull them free, until he realizes why. Hugh’s been steadily leaking all over him, every thrust rubbing the swollen head against Paul’s stomach. Now, he wraps his fingers around his straining erection, stroking with quick jerks of his wrist.

_He’s close._

Hugh always holds off touching himself as long as possible when they’re like this, drawing out their mutual pleasure until he can’t wait any more. Paul reaches up to flick a nipple, pinching and rolling as Hugh’s focus turns to driving them both over the edge. 

“Oh fuck...sweetheart, I- I’m-“

He pulls Hugh down to him for a messy kiss, open-mouthed and wet, the noises they’re both helpless to contain breathed over each other’s lips.

”Do it,” he rasps out, “let me see you...”

Hugh tenses, abandoning the kiss as he rears up, back arching. Paul snaps his hips harder, driving deep once, twice-

With a sharp cry, Hugh comes in hot pulses over his stomach, hand twisting. Seconds later, Paul plants his heels against the headboard and tumbles them over on the tangled sheets, chasing his own climax. His partner is still shivering beneath him with aftershocks when Paul moans and shakes through his own release.

There’s nothing but the sound of harsh breathing for a few minutes, accompanied by the occasional oversensitive whimper as they both come down. At last, Hugh stirs underneath Paul’s weight, legs fallen wide. 

“Fuck...that was...”

”Yeah.”

If they fall asleep like this, they’ll regret it in the morning, but neither of them seems inclined to move to clean up. Hugh’s arms circle his waist as he snuggles closer.

”You’re not the only one, you know.”

Paul not sure if his orgasm-addled brain can figure that out when he can’t even muster the energy to lift his face away from the side of Hugh’s neck.

”Hmmm?”

He doesn’t have to look to hear the smile in Hugh’s voice.

“You’re beautiful too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm. Whew. Consider this another apology for writing angst.


	72. So (Beautiful), Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s perspective from the previous chapter.

“So beautiful.”

His eyes snap open. It’s a struggle not to lose his rhythm when he hears those two words murmured quietly between increasingly louder moans. He’d thought Paul was long past the point of coherent speech, worked up to a state where he could only express himself in wordless cries of pleasure. 

Hugh licks off the sweat beaded on his upper lip and looks down. Beneath him, Paul is watching him with eyes gone wide and dark with arousal, full of an intensity that never fails to awe him. Being the recipient of that look of love is both deeply erotic and _right_ in a way that he can’t describe. No matter how much he resists, Hugh always eventually has to close his eyes when he’s riding Paul, because watching his reaction in this position is too much when they’re already connected in the most primal way possible. 

Right now, Paul's frowning in concentration as he works his hips to find the perfect angle, face lighting up with a sort of wonder when one of his thrusts hits Hugh’s sweet spot and his body jerks. His fair skin is flushed down to his chest, damp with sweat from exertion, and his gaze is hotter than the hands on Hugh’s hips as it roams over his shoulders and chest before returning to his face. 

Hugh ruts against his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath flexing. With his thighs spread wide, every bounce squeezes Paul’s waist between his knees. His partner is self-conscious about the thickness of his midsection, the way his stomach has grown softer with time. Hugh adores those signs of age, testimony to their years together, something solid to wrap his arms and legs around.

Anyone who says intimacy loses its excitement as time goes on is so very wrong. Tonight had gone from a few lingering kisses goodnight to playful wrestling, ending with their pajamas strewn across the sheets and floor, Paul’s head now at the foot of the bed and Hugh happily bouncing on his lap. They both have to be up in just a few hours, but that feels far less important than playing out their desire. He loves seeing this, his fussy and difficult-to-please partner reveling in the messiness of sex, feels the tension in Paul’s thighs and the restraint in not flipping them over to take control. Instead, he lets Hugh set the pace, seems far less worried about his own pleasure than Hugh's satisfaction.

Paul gets off hard on getting him off. And sometimes he thinks he could come from that look alone.

The heady rush of wanting to be worthy of that adoration heats his face. Words desert him, and he releases Paul's shoulder in favor of molding his hand to his cheek, needing to find some way to express the overwhelming feeling of _fullness _that goes so far beyond their bodies, how Paul makes him feel like something sacred. He's so beautiful like this, and he belongs to Hugh.

He thinks Paul understands when his hands tighten on his hips, breath catching. The moment stretches between them, snaps. Then he's capturing Hugh's fingers with his teeth, sucking them into the wet heat of his mouth, shoving his tongue between his fingers to lick at the sensitive skin above his knuckles. Paul's eyes slip half-closed as he moans around them, and Hugh can't help but think of that talented tongue repeating the motion somewhere else.

_Fuck._

Hugh can't control himself any longer, can't ignore the insistent throbbing between his legs, isn't going to be able to make Paul come first tonight. He tugs his hand free, hears Paul whine in protest. Grips himself with spit-slick fingers, spreading the leaking wetness, feels the tension building at the base of his spine. He babbles something, maybe a warning, too lost to make it intelligible. 

Paul gropes his chest, playing with his nipples, then yanks him down for a kiss. The change in angle makes him gasp and he grinds their bodies together, trying to get closer, Paul swallowing his breathless whimpers. 

Heat is spiraling tighter and tighter in his groin when Paul tears their mouths apart, voice husky and ruined. 

"...let me see you."

It's a plea masquerading as a command, and he couldn't resist even if he wanted to, wants to give him everything. He clamps his knees tight to Paul's sides, driving himself down to take him as deeply as possible, and lets go.

The rush of orgasm rolling through him leaves him dizzy- no, wait, that's Paul bearing him down onto the bed, sheets cool against the overheated skin of his back. He forces his eyes open, body pliant and welcoming as Paul thrusts hard a half dozen times before his teeth sink into his lower lip and completely fail to contain his cry.

_Thank goodness for soundproofing._

Paul spills hot inside of him, tiny jerks of his hips that rub his belly against the very sensitive underside of Hugh's twitching (former) erection, spreading the sticky mess over their torsos before his arms give out. By that point, Hugh's regained enough of his senses to catch him as Paul collapses onto his chest, pinned between his body and the bed.

Safe. 

Beloved.

It takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath, easing the sense of loss when Paul slips free by holding him even tighter, nuzzling into his damp hair.

There was something he was going to say...oh. That's right. Paul's gone monosyllabic, words mumbled against his throat, but Hugh knows he's listening.

"You're beautiful too, sweetheart."

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up a lot more introspective than I intended - hope it still reads well! I wanted to convey the simultaneous passion of sex accompanied by deep love, and how the two things really can't be separated.


	73. Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this snippet back in February without intention for it...just had to get it out of my system.

Paul knows he was only thinking of himself. Not in an actively selfish way...just overwhelmed with grief and suddenly being given the second chance that _no one_ ever has. A chance to make up for all his shortcomings, to do away with regret. All he can think of is holding Hugh, kissing him and caressing his skin. Breathing in his scent and having him in his arms again, never to let him go. 

It’s no one’s fault that he isn’t thinking of Hugh first, because it’s inconceivable that this should happen to begin with. So much grief given sudden remedy, the sleepless nights and inconsolable sobbing. The hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Left with only memories of snuggles under the covers and sleepy morning kisses and Hugh smiling at him in the bathroom mirror. Memories of drinking coffee barefoot on the couch, side by side in silence at work on their PADDs. Memories of holding hands on dates on a dozen worlds. Memories of passion, deeply satisfying sex and awkward moments and making love blur together into a yearning for touch. 

Real touch. Not bumping shoulders with Tilly, or Reno smacking him on the arm when he lands a good insult. Not hugging his parents and sibling after the medal ceremony in Paris, or awkwardly accepting the handshakes and shoulder pats of condolence from their acquaintances. 

He wants Hugh's doctor's hands rubbing his back after a difficult day, Hugh's cheek on his chest when he wakes up. Hugh frustrated because Paul cancelled yet another dinner or evening home, worried about him. Hugh's body curled next to his, breathing soft sighs that feel like an embrace. Hugh's dirty clothes on the floor, his wet towel hanging off the counter. Hugh kissing him and complaining about Paul snoring and how much he hates it when he wears socks to bed. 

If he thought it was bad wanting those things after Hugh was gone...it's nothing on seeing him back, walking around the ship, smiling and laughing.

Touching people.

Everyone but Paul.


	74. Suffer, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilly goes looking for Stamets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tilly’s perspective from Chapter 24 “Suffer”.

“Lieutenant Stam- oh.”

Tilly stumbles to a halt three steps into the medbay. The biobed he’d been inhabiting is empty, and there’s no one else in sight. _It’s probably a good sign_, she thinks, everyone has been discharged, _which means they’re all better, right?_

”Can I help you, Cadet?”

She manages not to jump, although she can’t quite stifle the tiny squeak when Doctor Pollard seems to materialize out of thin air. It’s a trick all of the medical personal are somehow able to pull, although none better than Doctor Culbe- 

_Don’t think about that, Sylvia._

“Hi! Umm, no, I mean, yes. I’m looking for Lieutenant Stamets?”

Doctor Pollard’s face undergoes a subtle transformation, brow furrowing and lips pressing together just a bit. 

“He’s not supposed to be on duty, I have him on stand down for twenty four hours.”

”Oh! No, he’s not. I just...” Tilly feels her face heat, “...just wanted to. Check on him.”

The frown fades, replaced with a weary half-smile.

“You missed him by a few hours.”

”He was supposed to still be here? Not that I’m questioning you, Doctor.”

She shakes her head, setting down the PADD on a nearby table.

”He is. But you know him, he managed to sneak out. And honestly,” Doctor Pollard’s voice catches a little, “-making him stay here would have been cruel.”

”Why- oh.”

”I was going to check on him myself, but why don’t you go? He’s in his quarters. If he gives you any trouble, just tell him I sent you.”

Tilly blinks in surprise when Doctor Pollard hands her a hypospray.

”Ummm, what am I supposed to do with this?”

”Re-hydration and a mild analgesic. He’s going to need it.”

”...right.”

Clearly she didn’t make that sound less confused than she feels, because Doctor Pollard sighs. 

“Tilly, he’s either locked down so completely that he’s pretending to be fine, or he’s going to be a wreck. And if that’s the case, he could use a friendly face that doesn’t-“ she closes her eyes for a moment, swallowing visibly, “doesn’t remind him of Hugh.”

_They were friends_, Tilly suddenly remembers, _her and Doctor Culber_.

Now she feels incredibly awkward, because _of course _Stamets is going to be grieving. And with everyone focused on his reaction-

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, louder than intended, “for- for...”

Doctor Pollard saves her having to finish the sentence, gently squeezing her forearm. She’s shorter than Tilly, but her strength makes her seem much taller. 

“Thank you. Now go on, you know where his quarters are?”

”Yeah. I mean, yes, Doctor.”

She waves Tilly out, and Tilly goes.

Surprisingly, her request for entry goes un-acknowledged, as do three attempts to comm Stamets. She’s left standing outside his door, chewing her lip and wondering if she ought to try a fourth time. After a minute of indecision, she flips open her communicator again.

”_Pollard here.”_

”Umm hi. It’s Tilly. Uhhh, he won’t let me in and isn’t answering his comm?”

There’s a sound that’s either static or a long sigh.

”_He’s in there. Hang on, I’ll do a medical override for you._”

”Doctor...won’t he be, you know, mad you let me in?”

“_Tilly, I mean it when I said to tell him I sent you._”

“Ummm. Okay?”

”_Overriding now.”_

There’s a beep from the door panel, and she sees the lock indicator go green.

”_Comm me again if he won’t take the hypo. Pollard out.”_

Tilly taps the control, and the doors swish open. 

“...Lieutenant Stamets?”

The interior is dark, and her eyes need a few seconds to adjust from the corridor lighting. She takes a couple of steps in, far enough that the door mechanism can close, and scans the room. 

Tilly’s never been inside his quarters, just at the door a few times to drop off a report. And she wasn’t really looking, especially not after the first time when Doctor Culber answered in just his underwear. She bites her lower lip, wondering now how she could have possibly missed the fact that he and Stamets were a couple before that.

The living area is empty, save for a couple of PADDs on the coffee table and a stack of data solids. She ventures a little further in, frowning at the silence. There’s a pile of laundry on the unmade bed, and the bathroom light is off, but-

_Wait_.

It’s not laundry. Stamets is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, clutching and partially behind a tangle of what looks like sheets and standard ‘fleet pajamas. He seems to still be in full uniform, boots on and knees tucked up, face hidden.

“Sir?”

No response. He’s breathing, of that she’s certain, but he doesn’t stir as she creeps closer, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Oh no.”

In the light filtering in the viewport, his face is flushed and swollen. Even in sleep he’s frowning, cheek pillowed on a pajama shirt and back bent at an angle that makes her own ache in sympathy. She’s never been aware of his physical size, not really, but he looks so small like this.

”Lieutenant?”

Still no reply. She sits on the edge of the mattress gingerly, wondering why only one of the pillowcases has been stripped, the other pillow with sleeping clothes neatly folded on top of it. The nightstand on that side is neatly laid out, chrono and PADDs at right angles to the edges, but the one closest to her is covered in an unruly scatter of objects. Two half-empty water glasses sit precariously on a haphazard pile of PADDs, in front of a framed holo. She leans closer, just making out Stamets and Culber with their arms around each other, laughing with their noses touching. Culber’s winking at whoever took the holo, but Stamets is only looking at him, wearing a smile she’s never seen. It’s open and adoring, and she takes in the way his body is angled in, hand tucked in Culber’s back pocket. 

_They look so happy._

Stamets shifts a little, tearing her attention away from the holo. The damp fabric smells strongly of something spicy, and she can’t quite place it. Unbidden, a memory surfaces, of Stamets sitting up in bed and calling for Doctor Culber to bring the report back to him. Tilly’s eyes burn with the sudden sting of tears. 

_This must have been his side_. 

He moans, fingers flexing around the sheets clenched between them. The frown is growing deeper, and he seems to be shaking his head in tiny jerks of motion.

Before she can think better of it, Tilly reaches out and rests her hand on his arm, frozen in surprise at her own boldness. But he quiets under her touch, and after a few seconds of wondering if he’s going to wake up and throw her off, she starts to move her hand in slow circles over the ball of his shoulder.

Her comm chirps, sounding impossibly loud in the stillness of the room.

”Tilly.”

”_How is it, Cadet?_”

“He- he’s sleeping, Doctor Pollard. Should I wake him up?”

The hypo in her pocket is digging into her leg, and she wonders if she ought to simply leave it on the nightstand and let him alone in his grief. 

“_No, but-“_

He stirs again, eyelids fluttering.

”He’s waking up. Tilly out.”

She snaps the comm shut, and turns her full attention to the man on the bed. 

“Sir? Are you...” she trails off, because ‘are you okay?’ is probably the most useless thing she could possibly say.

When he speaks, it’s mumbled into the fabric, voice raspy and hoarse as his eyes open slowly.

”Oh gods, Hugh, I-“

He blinks in surprise, completely bewildered when he manages to focus on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.

Surprise registers, and for a moment she can see so much agonizing despair in his reddened eyes that it makes her chest hurt. Then he closes them again, burying his face in the pajama shirt.

”Tilly.”

It’s not a question, almost as if he needs to identify her to himself.

”Go away.”

The command has nothing of the usual snap to it, more a plea than a demand.

”I ummm, I don’t think-“

”Please,” his voice breaks, “leave me alone.”

”Sir, Doctor Pollard sent me to- she wanted me to give you this,” she fumbles the hypo out of her pocket, then realizes he’s not looking. “For uhhh, dehydration.”

He doesn’t respond, but she can’t leave him like this. Tilly starts counting silently. She’s at three hundred and twenty eight when he finally speaks again.

”If I take it, will you go away?”

”If that’s what you want, sir,” she forces out past the lump in her own throat, unsure if it's asked in relief or fear.

The bitterness in his laugh is a punch to the stomach.

”What I want.”

”Sir?”

He fumbles a hand free, pulling open his jacket collar. Tilly’s hands are shaking, but she presses the hypospray against his neck. There’s a fading bruise marking the skin where neck meets shoulder, smaller ones scattered over his throat. She flushes hot, pulling his collar back into place, feeling like she’s somehow trespassed and seen something meant to be kept private.

“Sir, I...”

His sigh sounds pained.

”What?”

”I...I’ll go now.”

Very slowly, one eye opens.

”You don’t have to.”

”...okay.”

They don’t speak again after that, not when Tilly hesitantly starts rubbing his shoulder again, or when his body shakes with silent sobs. 

She doesn’t move until it’s clear Stamets has fallen back into an uneasy sleep. The chrono says almost an hour has passed, and she should probably go before he wakes up again.

Tilly glances around the room, locating a throw on one of the chairs. He doesn’t stir when she stands up, stretching the cramp out of her side. She covers him carefully, debating with herself and finally deciding that it can’t hurt. 

Very gently, she presses a kiss to his cheek, and creeps out as quietly as possible. 

She goes straight back to her quarters, sits on the floor of the shower and cries, for Doctor Culber and all of the losses they’ve suffered and a little bit for herself, but mostly for Stamets. Michael finds her there an hour later, doesn’t ask any questions, just sits down next to her and pulls Tilly against her shoulder. 

When she sees Stamets next, it’s a day and a half later in Engineering. There’s still a war going on, and the bay is busy even though everyone gives him a wide berth. He has his head down, punching in calculations with a concentrated stare, and Tilly pauses, wondering if she ought to just leave him alone. 

She’s just about to turn away to go to her station when he looks up. His face is composed, hair styled perfectly, but his eyes are still haunted. Despite that, he conjures up the barest ghost of a smile. It lasts half a second, before he drops his eyes again, but she hopes that maybe a very tiny bit of the burden on him is a little lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to write Tilly at her filter-less, brilliant but over sharing best, but I think it would be a disservice to never touch on the flip side of that - her ability to empathize and care. This stuck with me, and when Paul tells her in the beginning of season two that she does everything out of love, I’m choosing to believe it’s because of this here.


	75. Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the toothbrush scene?

“Hugh?”

Paul’s bare feet are silent as he leaves the bathroom, stopping in front of Hugh where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I could have lost you today, Paul.”

He thought they’d finished this discussion, but clearly the thirty seconds he’d taken to join him had given his partner time to swing back to worried. Sighing, he sits on the mattress next to him. There’s no point in denying the possibility.

”...I know. But-“

Hugh shakes his head. He isn’t looking at Paul, staring instead at his own hands clasped between his knees. 

”-I know why. But it doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”

”I’m sorry.”

”You’re not just saying that, are you?”

”Hugh...I’m right here,” he takes an unresisting hand between both of his, lacing their fingers together and pitching his voice in his most reassuring tone, “everything’s fine, I feel okay, and you’ll have all day tomorrow to make sure it stays that way.”

Hugh shakes his head again, loosing Paul’s hand to climb under the covers. A knot of trepidation ties itself in Paul’s stomach, as he’s left standing awkwardly before walking around to his side and ordering the lights off. 

He counts to fifty, keenly aware of the inches of sheet and brittle silence between them as good as a light year of distance. Hugh’s as close as possible to the edge of the mattress while still being on the bed, on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

”Hugh...”

This isn’t going to bed with sullen silence after the occasional heated argument, backs turned to each other until one or the other cools down enough to be the first one to apologize. Or the even rarer occasion when neither is willing to do so, but they wake up entangled, bodies gravitating together in sleep and belying their owners’ pique. (They’d learned early on - just the once - that kicking someone out of bed to lie awake on the couch only resulted in neither of them sleeping at all.)

In the starlight filtering in the viewport, he sees Hugh’s jaw twitch, eyes squeezing shut.

”Can I hold you, or are you still mad at me?”

He reaches out tentatively, hand resting on top of the covers in invitation. Hugh doesn’t ignore it, but he makes no move to take it either, gaze locked determinedly anywhere but the man on the other side of the bed.

”Paul...”

That’s twice in five minutes, and he reacts before he can think better of it, throat closing.

”I hate it when you do that.”

Hugh does look up at how small his voice is, expression unreadable when rolls onto his side, facing Paul. His arms are still tucked protectively against his own torso, but the words come out tired rather than angry.

”...sweetheart, you really scared me. More than I’ve been scared by anything else this whole damn war. I think I deserve some time to process it.”

Paul regrets trying to dismiss his earlier concern as ‘doctoring’. This is Hugh his lover and partner and best friend, not Doctor Culber, speaking. 

“I know. You do.”

The flat line of his mouth softens, but Hugh is still very much not reaching out. Their shipmates might assume otherwise, but their relationship has always been expressed in physical affection, as casual as breathing. Even though he knows Hugh would never deliberately punish him that way, having touch withheld hurts and he finds himself blinking back tears.

”I-“ he exhales hard, trying to wrestle his emotions under control, “I’m sorry for scaring you I didn’t think about that, and I should have.”

Arm’s length away, Hugh nods, eyes dropping to look at the hand now fisting the duvet between them.

“Please, Hugh.”

He knows his voice is wobbling, but keeps going.

”I deserve it for hurting you. Just...please. Please. Let me hold you.”

Paul closes his eyes, wondering if he’s finally fucked up badly enough that even his understanding and forgiving Hugh won’t accept the apology.

The sheets rustle, mattress dipping. 

”Sweetheart, no.”

He stiffens, but then he’s being pulled against a broad chest, Hugh’s arms around him. His heart is pounding a staccato beat between them, and Paul can feel it in his own chest. 

”I mean... no, you don’t deserve it. I know you weren't trying to do anything but not hurt that creature any more.”

Paul buries his face in Hugh’s neck, mumbles into the skin.

”M’still sorry.”

”I- it’s been a hell of a day. Sleep, maybe, and we’ll see how we both feel in the morning?”

He nods, knowing Hugh can feel it.

“Are we okay?”

Hugh’s arms tighten around him.

”We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a dialogue only flashback, but really deserved a chapter of its own.
> 
> To be clear, I can’t imagine Hugh ever being passive-aggressive and deliberately withholding touch. He’s struggling with his own reaction, and it takes him a bit to realize what Paul is reading into.
> 
> Continued in Chapter 78.


	76. Spoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.

Hugh opens his eyes to darkness, disoriented. He was...dreaming? The details slip out of reach as he grasps for them, leaving a lingering sense of unease.

For a moment, he’s not sure where he is, heart pounding in his chest. He’s cold and alone, and-

“...’ugh?”

A sleep-clumsy hand makes contact with his back, gripping onto his shirt.

Paul.

He must have rolled away from his partner in his sleep, right at the edge of the mattress with the covers kicked off.

”What’re you doin’ over there?”

Paul sounds marginally more awake, and Hugh rolls over to face him, relief pulling the tension from his body all at once.

”Sorry love, didn’t mean to-“ he clears his throat, voice rough, “to wake you up.”

His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can just make out Paul’s form inches away.

”What’s wrong?”

“Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Hugh shivers involuntarily, and the next thing he feels is Paul’s sleep-warmed chest under his cheek. His arms circle Hugh’s shoulders, tugging the duvet back up over them both. 

“Better?”

He squirms, and Paul loosens his grip enough that he can wiggle around. Paul follows a moment later, spooning up behind him and adjusting his arms until every limb is wrapped around him.

”Mmmhmmm.”

”Wanna talk about it?”

The offer is serious, even slow and slurred with drowsiness. Paul would make himself wake up enough if Hugh needed, but...

”Nah. I’m okay. Just- just missed you.”

Paul makes a quiet noise against the back of his neck, kissing behind Hugh’s ear.

”M’right here.”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

The silence that follows stretches out, and Hugh’s almost certain he’s not going to get a response. Then-

“...you too.”

Safe and loved, Hugh closes his eyes and lets the rhythm of Paul’s breathing lull him back to sleep. 


	77. Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever notice that long time couples with good communication habits seem to be almost telepathic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passing mention of consensual light bondage.

Paul Stamets is a man of routines, and contrary to how it might seem on the surface, Hugh loves that about him.

Routine isn’t the same as predictable; it’s more a matter of reading the signs and knowing the situation so that he can fit himself in instead of being a discordant note. It means he always knows where he stands with Paul, the bare honesty between them, rarely has to guess what’s going on. It doesn’t mean they never disagree or argue - far from it - but it also gives them a well-worn roadmap to avoid deliberately hurting each other.

He misses that now. Ever since the war started and they’d both been dragged into it, it’s been harder and harder to stay in sync. Before, it was only one of them stressed at a time, able to balance each other out. Now, they barely have any time together and Paul has been coiled tighter than a spring, and Hugh knows he himself is getting snappish. 

Paul is actually home in time for bed tonight, but from the way he’s tapping his fingers on the table Hugh knows he’s not going to be in a snuggly mood. 

Yet.

His lover works in stages, needs to process and turn things over in his mind before neatly shelving his thoughts and feelings into place. Paul won’t be ready to relax and might not even sleep at all though, if Hugh doesn’t get the next part right.

Instead of commenting on his distracted frown and distinct lack of affection outside of the brief peck on the lips when he walked in, Hugh bides his time. He has options.

He could leave Paul be, acknowledging the mood but not interfering, reminding him that his partner isn’t going to demand he snap out of it immediately. Sometimes that works, just letting him think through whatever it is without pushing.

He could invite Paul into the shower with him, try to rub some of the tension from his shoulders and maybe the relaxation would help speed up the process. It probably won’t do much tonight, which is unfortunate because Hugh enjoys taking care of him when he’s allowed.

He could ask what he’s mulling over, offer his intellect as an extended space and metaphorical processing power to help logic things out. Hugh’s not an astromycologist, but he has more than a passing knowledge of the sciences and he’s made sure to listen and learn over the years. That seems like a more likely path tonight, but he’s not completely sure yet.

He could also always attempt a seduction, offer his body as a means to channel the palpable frustration. No matter how out of sorts he’s feeling, Paul would never hurt him physically, even if he wants a rough fuck or to tie Hugh down to reassert some control in a safe setting. Or he might even ask Hugh to take charge, overwhelming whatever is on his mind with sensation. Either way or anything in between is always an actual pleasure, and Hugh knows the offer goes both directions even if he doesn’t require it often. Paul looks too keyed up to respond to that though, so he discards it with a hint of regret.

Hugh moves around their quarters getting ready for bed, taking a quick shower. He can hear Paul brushing his teeth while he’s washing his hair, which is a bit disappointing because it means he’s feeling too cagey to enjoy that part of their routine together.

Paul’s already in bed when he emerges, lying close to the middle but still on his side. His frown hasn’t diminished, and from the way he’s rubbing his thumb against forefinger, whatever it is is giving him more trouble than anticipated. Hugh doesn’t try to distract him, just leans over to collect a kiss goodnight and settles down close enough that Paul can feel his body heat but not crowding into his space.

He’s still awake when Paul picks up his PADD maybe half an hour later, thumbing the screen on in night mode to avoid disturbing him too much. Paul knows he’s awake, and Hugh knows that he knows Hugh knows that he knows it, but doesn’t say anything as he starts keying in calculations. Hugh watches him through half-closed eyes. He’s chewing his lower lip, which is a good sign that he might almost have whatever it is resolved. 

At last, Paul heaves a sigh and sets the PADD back on the nightstand. He reaches out in the dark, finds Hugh’s hand already waiting for him on top of the covers and laces their fingers together.

Hugh slowly counts to twenty in his head, and right on schedule, Paul slumps into the sheets. He doesn’t have to say anything, just lets Hugh gather him up and rest their heads together on the pillow, making a small pleased hum as they exchange soft kisses. Paul slips his free hand underneath Hugh’s shirt, resting warm on his stomach, and Hugh finally closes his eyes.

Neither of them speak. They don’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m projecting my own tendency to observe and catalog so I know how to react appropriately onto Hugh, and I’m not sorry about it.
> 
> The Hugh-knows-Paul-knows is a tongue in cheek reference to a scene from The Lion In Winter, and one of my favorite things to include in any piece of writing.


	78. Serious, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation from Chapter 75 - Hugh’s perspective the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introspection and sexy times.

The morning after his partner (recklessly) injects himself with tardigrade DNA (altruistically), Hugh’s in the shower when he hears Paul at the bathroom sink.

_That’s odd._

Rinsing soap off his back, he checks the chrono at the top of the control panel, but it is indeed still 0637 and Paul is never willingly up this early. He'd managed to extricate himself from Paul's grasp without waking him, or so he'd thought. Hugh had traded shifts with Tracy to be able to have today off, unwilling to leave Paul unattended when he's supposed to be taking an enforced 24 hours of rest, monitored for any signs of...abnormality.

Being awake and- is he_ humming?_ ...well, cheerful at this hour is definitely abnormal. Then again, his endorphins had still been high when he scanned Paul while brushing their teeth, levels only beginning to drop around 0200, and with them Hugh's eyelids. 

Sleep hadn’t come easily. Hugh had lain awake long after turning off the lights, Paul snoring quietly against his neck and arm heavy over his waist. He’d even given up trying to move them closer to the center of the bed, Paul’s unconscious whimper of distress when he made an attempt to shift them more effective than any protesting noise. Paul had finally fallen asleep wrapped tightly around Hugh after multiple apologies and rounds of reassurance that _no, Hugh isn’t planning to leave him over this._ Hours later, Hugh was still staring into the darkness, the weight of Paul’s head on his shoulder reminding him that his partner was safe, but not able to shake the lingering sense of unease. 

For all that he’s reserved and seemingly self-possessed around others, Paul has a deep-seated fear of losing him, even all these years later. He doesn't let people in easily, but Paul Stamets loves completely and gives those select few allowed past all of his defenses the power to cause irrevocable harm. It’s something that’s kept Hugh up before, wondering if that sort of attachment is healthy when the universe is full of so many unknowns. Hugh's going to spend the rest of his life with Paul, but there's no guarantee that things beyond their control will let them both do so easily. 

The last time he'd checked the bedside chrono had been 0239, so at best Hugh's running on just under four hours of sleep. He's done more strenuous work on less - including, memorably, thirty hours on his feet when the medical facility in his charge on Starbase 12 was overrun with radiation-burned evacuees from a colony world under Klingon assault. At the end of that marathon, uniform covered in more blood and other things than he could ever remember, he'd still managed to stay awake after stumbling back to his quarters, comming Paul after seeing the backlog of increasingly frantic messages. 

This morning though, the emotions from yesterday are muted, drained away. The horror on seeing the deep puncture wounds on his partner's torso and hearing the events leading up to it has settled into a shaky sort of acceptance. Part of him is still furious at Paul for endangering himself, but it's falling into the background of relief. 

The cubicle door opens behind him, and he turns under the spray to find Paul looking at him with unbounded affection as he steps into the shower with Hugh. It's not the expression he expects to see on Paul's face, especially after last night, but there's no mistaking the way his mouth is curved in a happy smile and eyes full of adoration. Hugh's brain is still trying to process the unexpected situation when Paul grips the back of his head and pulls him into the most thorough kiss they've shared since reuniting on Discovery months ago.

There’s nothing aggressive in the slightest about it. The kiss starts nearly chaste, slowly building as the sound of their mouths meeting again and again is lost under the falling water. Paul traces Hugh's lips with the tip of his tongue, teasing and inviting him into his mouth. He can feel the rasp of stubble catching on his chin, can’t resist nibbling just a little, tugging gently on Paul’s lower lip with his teeth and swallowing the resulting moan. 

Can never resist this man.

It should be sexual, but instead it’s somehow sweet. Paul’s soft where he’s pressed against Hugh’s thigh, seemingly lost in the sensuality as the kiss turns open-mouthed. Even then, with their tongues caressing each other and a hint of teeth, he never pushes beyond the same unhurried pace. He’s got Hugh backed against the wall, Hugh’s arms finding their way around Paul’s waist. With his eyes closed, he still knows every inch of his partner’s body, fingers mapping out the breadth of his shoulders and meandering down the valley of his spine. 

Paul’s an unashamedly noisy lover, but there’s no hungry moans or breathless pleas this morning. The sounds breathed into Hugh’s skin are soft sighs as he breaks the kiss to work his way down the strong curve of Paul's jaw, quiet mewls of satisfaction. It feels like Paul’s smiling, and Hugh opens his eyes to find he’s still being watched. Paul’s eyes are heavy-lidded with contentment, the way they are in the afterglow of lovemaking, gazing at Hugh with adoration. Standing together without the echoes of orgasm fading from them, that same look is almost obscene in its vulnerability.

”Sweetheart...”

Slowly, deliberately, Paul slides his hand up from Hugh’s neck and uses his thumb to trace over his lips. Hugh can’t look away from the intent in his eyes that’s so much deeper than lust, doesn’t break eye contact even as he lets that thumb slip into his mouth and gently suckles it, flicking his tongue against and around the edges of the nail. Paul lets him, presses down on his tongue and slides a little deeper until Hugh can’t help the moan it evokes, hungry for more of Paul’s touch.

He pulls his thumb free with a pop, smiling at the involuntary whine of protest. Before Hugh can voice a complaint, Paul replaces his thumb with two fingers. Hugh’s well aware of his own oral fixation, lets Paul tease him about it endlessly (because at the end of the day, it means Hugh _loves_ sucking him off). Seemingly satisfied that he’s keeping Hugh busy, Paul uses his nose to nudge Hugh’s chin up for better access. 

Without any preamble, he starts licking his way over Hugh’s collarbone, moving up his throat and swirling his tongue over the pulse beating there. Maddeningly, Paul doesn’t seem to be in any more of a rush than he was with the kissing. Hugh moans around the fingers in his mouth, the hot sweep of Paul’s tongue igniting sparks of pleasure that settle low in his groin. He can feel himself getting hard, hands scrabbling over Paul’s skin to grope his ass and hold his hips in place. 

Paul is still oddly unaroused - actually, wait, that’s not true. He might not have the beginnings of an erection, but the utter satisfaction in his eyes with every gasp and shudder he draws from Hugh makes him look intoxicated, pupils wide and cheeks flushed.

His free hand trails over Hugh’s chest, caressing the pectoral muscles and flirting with his nipples, all the while continuing the attention to his throat. Humming against the skin, he insinuates a knee between Hugh’s until he’s nearly straddling Paul’s thigh. The change in position gives him access to thrust into the cradle of Paul’s hip, slick and hot.

Desire clouds his mind, every point of contact with his lover a hotspot of sensation. Still...

Forcing his eyes open, he gently tugs on Paul’s hair until he looks up and regretfully releases Paul’s fingers from between his lips.

”Sweetheart, you-“

Paul’s already shaking his head, kisses him softly. 

”This is for you, Hugh,” he whispers, lips brushing his ear and sending shivers down his body, “let me make you feel good. I want to.”

”Can I at least return the favor?”

”Shhhh,” Paul slips his fingers back into Hugh’s mouth, thrusting them in and out a few times, “we can talk later. Just let me.”

They both get a lot out of pleasuring the other, so that he definitely understands. Hugh nods and lets his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes again. It’s a bit of a struggle to focus solely on his own reactions and not trying to give back as good as he’s getting, but coherent thought flees as Paul returns to pressing open-mouthed kisses to that spot behind his ear that makes his knees weak. 

“Mine. My dear doctor,” he murmurs between licks, “so gorgeous and always taking care of me.”

Hugh rocks his hips harder, bobbing his head and sucking as if something else was between his lips. When Paul starts playing with his nipples again, it’s all he can do to keep himself upright.

He loses track of time, of anything but the pressure building, spiraling tighter with every flick of Paul’s fingers and tease of his tongue. All the while he keeps up a stream of soft-voiced comments in Hugh’s ear, gratitude and praise mingled with words of love.

Hugh comes with a garbled moan around Paul’s fingers, eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of Paul pulling off his neck to watch. The adoration he sees written on his face almost feels like a second orgasm, Paul reaching down to stroke him through it until the last of the shivers settle. 

“...wow.”

Paul doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of eloquence, just moves to steer Hugh back under the shower to wash off the mess. They’re holding hands, water running over their shoulders, and everything is perfect, at least for a little while.

He sighs when Paul kisses him sweetly, pulling back with a smile.

”Good morning, Hugh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea grew out of a single thought - Paul licking Hugh’s neck. It expanded into needing a reason for him to do that, then it turned into Hugh in the shower thinking about the night before, and then I had to write the entirety of Chapter 75 as setup for this one. Originally, that was just a few lines of dialogue, but it morphed into something much more significant.


	79. Slice (of Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-only bit of domesticity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn’t have a direction in mind when I started this, but badly needed a Culmets trip away from reality.

“Babe?”

”...hmm?”

”Are you bus- oh. Never mind.”

”Ooookay.”

”Actually...”

”What?”

”You know how I said I was standing for ten hours today?”

”Mmmhmm. Oh, do you want to go to sleep? Computer, lights-“

”No. I mean, yes, I am tired, but I was hoping you might...”

”Wait, are you in the mood again? We just showered.”

“Mmm. That was a good shower.”

”You’re hotter than fuck, Hugh, but I don’t think I can get it up again yet. Want me to su-“

”Sweetheart, I’m not asking for sex.”

”Oh? Oh.”

”Quit pouting at me.”

”I’m not pouting, my lip is lonely.”

”...okay, that was awful even for you.”

”Hey!”

”_Anyway_, I was hoping you might be up for a foot massage?”

”Why didn’t you just say so?”

”I was trying to. You thought I was propositioning you.”

”Propos- Hugh, after this long, I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out I’m a sure thing.”

”If I kiss you, will you rub my feet?”

”You’re changing the subject.”

”No, my feet hurt. And as a doctor, I’m prescribing myself some...physical therapy from the most qualified person on the ship.”

“Did you bring a doctor’s note?”

“Oh would you- mmmmph.”

”Yeah, I’ll rub your feet. Bring ‘em up here.”

”...”

”Good?”

“...ohhhhhhhh. Oh my- love your hands, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good. Right there.”

”Are you sure you’re not trying to get laid again?”

“Unnhhh. You’re projecting again. You keep...mmm, yes...bringing it up.”

”You’re naked with your feet in my lap and you keep moaning, what else am I supposed to be thinking?”

”That I’m an overworked medical officer whose partner is a genius with amazing hands.”

”Flattery gets you everywhere.”

“Mmmmmm.”

  
  


”...Hugh? Are you- oh.”

”...why’d you stop?”

”You were snoring.”

”Sorry. Told you, magic hands.”

”Nah. ‘M tired too. Sleep now and you can continue to praise my skills in the morning?”

“Mmmm.”

”Love you. Computer, lights.”

” ‘ve you too.”


	80. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s viewpoint from that scene in Saints of Imperfection.
> 
> Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 31 (“Shaking”) which contains Paul’s perspective.

He’s still not fully convinced that Paul isn’t another hallucination, a cruel trick of his mind meant to further test his fragile grip on sanity. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen him, or heard his voice, but this time it _feels_ real and he’s even more terrified. What if he goes to touch and his hands find only empty air and more of the burning spores waiting to devour his flesh? 

The Discovery hasn’t melted away beneath him like he expected it to once he found an access hatch and scoured his fractured psyche for nearly-forgotten command codes. Once inside, the hissing of the spores vanished, but he’d merely traded one sort of solitude for another. There’s no one else on the ship that he can find, running through what feels like endless miles of deck, always avoiding the shimmering, pulsing barrier cutting across the corridors. 

He’s so tired, sliding down the bulkhead and wondering if he’s locked himself in the memory of his ship, caught in delusion. Hugh’s never made it this far in his fantasies, never been able to recreate the ship in such detail, but he doesn’t dare let himself believe.

In the past, Paul’s appeared to him alone, seemingly stepping out of thin air with his arms open and a smile just for Hugh. Or he chases him amongst the forest of mycelia, never able to catch more than a fleeting glimpse. He’s not even sure when that happens if it’s a physical manifestation of his partner, or just his lonely mind wrapping up his feeling of love into a specter just out of reach.

Past the glare of light, he sees Michael and Tilly and a woman he doesn’t recognize. They’re immediately dismissed as unimportant when Paul starts to move closer, the way he holds his hands tense around the grip of his phaser and the breadth of his shoulders so painfully familiar. Paul’s frowning, lips pressed together, and Hugh wants to throw himself into his arms, but he knows if he touches it will all disappear. He’s not sure he has the strength to survive the loss again. So he stays crouched on the floor, wondering how long he can keep the hallucination up for, how long he can pretend the love of his life is just a few feet away.

It’s too much, being offered this vision of salvation.

He’s sobbing his despair and exhaustion when the stranger starts screaming at Tilly.

”Kill it! KILL IT! You promised!“

This is it. 

He wonders if this is the last gasp of consciousness, if the burning spores are actually eating him up and his brain is trying to let him know their intent. Does he let them? Is there anything worth fighting for, other than this bleak existence?

The woman is still screaming, and it fills his mind with fear. Paul turns away, and it’s like a knife through the heart. He can’t watch him melt away again. 

Hugh flees, hears footsteps in pursuit but doesn’t dare turn to look, Orpheus without even the hope of Eurydice following. He’s clumsy, nothing like the sure-footed runner he used to be, banging into walls until he triggers a door sensor and tumbles through.

It looks like personal quarters, no one’s that he recognizes, and he sinks to the floor on his knees. Tries to catch his breath. He’s alone, has been alone, save for the creatures with their acid touch.

Silence.

Then the door opens, and Paul is silhouetted against the panels of the corridor, the bluish light catching his eyes and turning them a transparent grey. 

He can’t.

Hugh scrambles behind a room divider, trapped with no way to escape.

”You’re not real.”

He hasn’t heard his own voice in...days? Weeks? Whatever passes for time here. It’s weak and pleading and he hates that he can hear just how close he is to breaking.

”I am.”

That’s Paul’s voice, thick with emotion.

No.

”When I was lost here, you found me. Remember?” 

Hugh whimpers, pressing his cheek to the partition. He can’t ever forget. Their last kiss, and sending Paul out of the network. He’d thought that nothing else could hurt more, and he’d been so wrong.

“You found me in so many places.”

Yes, he had found Paul here so many times. And each time he vanished, he took another piece of Hugh’s sanity with him.

“You took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, when we were on leave. It was our...third date.”

He remembers. 

They’d been talking for months, dates via comm link, but that was only the third time they were able to go somewhere together in person. This turn is even more cruel than any of his past hallucinations, pulling out one of his most cherished memories to torment him. 

“You were walking so fast, because you were excited to show me the de Koonings. All of them, in one room.”

He remembers. 

That day was one of the happiest in his life. That night, after feeding Paul asopao and cuddling on the couch, was the first time he whispered ‘I love you’ as Paul lay asleep with his head on Hugh’s shoulder. 

”I had to run to keep up, and as you walked, you held out your hand behind you because you knew that I would grab it.”

He remembers.

”And I did. And I knew _everything_ about you in that moment.”

Paul’s voice is breaking, and he can hear so much grief and hope and fear in it. Hugh’s resolve is weakening under the onslaught of emotion. He peeks around the partition, sees Paul leaning towards him.

It hurts so much, and he doesn’t know if it’s even worth fighting. Maybe letting go of the last shreds of sanity won’t be so bad, if he can pretend Paul is with him.

“And I’m here now. And here’s my hand.”

Paul’s hands, strong and sure but so gentle. Reaching for him, face open and pleading, shaking but brave. So brave.

Hugh can’t take it anymore.

He lunges for Paul, fingers meeting and squeezing and _oh gods_ he’s so solid and warm and _**real**_. 

Could it finally be...?

Hugh breathes in raggedly, and it hits him with the force of a phaser blast. The only smells in this hell are ozone and metal and his own blood and sweat, but now...his nose is filled with woodsmoke and citrus and hair gel and underneath it all, the scent imprinted on his soul, the one he could recognize anywhere. 

Paul.

”I thought I was losing my mind,” he forces out, caught between laughter and tears.

Strong arms are around him, and he feels something he hasn’t felt in so long that it’s nearly foreign, a half-remembered dream.

Safe.

Safe and loved, and it’s Paul, his Paul holding him. After all this time, somehow, some way. 

Hugh lets himself believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. I debated whether to put it in as another dream in When Sorrow Turns To Joy, but I couldn’t wait.


	81. Synthesizer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one else thinks Paul Stamets is a romantic. Hugh knows better.

The first time it happens, Paul is on gamma shift maybe a month after Discovery's launch. Hugh gets back from his morning run (feeling less refreshed than usual, he _hates_ sleeping without Paul in their bed) to find Paul in the shower and a cup of coffee waiting on his nightstand. At first, he thinks Paul must have set it down in passing, but it's an untouched café con leche and Paul prefers café au lait.

While he's considering the cup, the sonic shower stops and Paul pads out of the bathroom in just a towel.

"Hi honey," Hugh smiles and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Mmmm," Paul breaks the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good. Wish you were coming to bed with me."

"Me too, and I love you babe, but I stink."

Paul wrinkles his nose, but lets the comment pass. It's a longstanding 'disagreement', and one they're both happy to leave be.

"Shower's all yours."

Nodding, Hugh starts stripping off his workout clothes.

"Thanks for the coffee," he calls out as Paul turns to head back into the bathroom.

He gets a distracted hum in response, drains the cup while Paul is brushing his teeth, and gets ready for the day.

********

The second time, Hugh is the one coming back home from a shift run over. Thankfully it’s not an emergency this time, just a recalibration of one of the microsurgical tools that needed to be completed in one go. He tries to be as quiet as possible, mindful of Paul asleep when he creeps in. After he's showered and brushed his teeth, he climbs into bed, sighing when Paul rolls over and spoons him.

When he wakes up, Paul has been gone for hours already. Hugh goes about his 'morning' routine even though it's 1300, wondering why he scheduled himself to be on again this afternoon. It's a rhetorical exercise; he's trying to re-adjust to be able to sync up with Paul's shifts, but today is going to be rough. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, he hears a chime from the synthesizer. It's not a cause for concern, but he wanders over wondering if it's signaling a need for maintenance. Instead, at precisely 1315, it delivers a small mocha.

Hmmm.

Never one to turn down coffee, Hugh shrugs and picks up the cup. He smiles at his partner's thoughtfulness, goes on shift, and doesn't think about it again until they're in their pajamas snuggling for the night.

"Thank you."

"Hmmm?"

Paul sounds mostly asleep, face first in the pillow and one leg thrown over Hugh's thigh.

"For the coffee."

"Hmm hmmMhmm."

He takes that for a muffled 'you’re welcome' (or possibly 'I love you'), kisses the back of Paul's neck, and closes his eyes.

********

It's not every day at first, and Hugh enjoys being pleasantly surprised when it does happen. Eventually though, they get their schedules worked out and despite the stress they're under (Paul especially), are at least mostly getting to be home at the same times.

Hugh's settled into a routine of going running before 0700, returning to rouse Paul out of bed. His lover is most definitely not a morning person, but he's adorably ruffled with pillow hair and sleep-flushed cheeks. He leaves him to brush his teeth, taking a hot water shower to rinse the sweat off. 

When he emerges, there's a steaming cup waiting on their dining table across from where Paul is downing his own coffee like his life depends on it. 

It's nice to take a few minutes in the morning together before heading to the mess hall, and he savors the mocha before starting the day.

********

A couple of weeks later, Hugh trades with Tracy so she's off shift to be able to comm her parents on their 50th wedding anniversary. Paul's still in Engineering when he gets home, and he nearly drops his PADD in surprise when the synthesizer buzzes to life two minutes after he's done in the shower.

It's a hot chocolate, meaning he'll be able to get to sleep that night without extra caffeine. He checks the bedroom just in case Paul made it back and didn't tell him, but he's alone in their quarters.

_Hmmm._

Sipping the hot, sweet liquid, he's on the couch in just his pajama pants when the doors swish open to admit Paul carrying an armful of PADDs. He comes over for a kiss, then dumps the stack on the dining table and heads in to shower. After, he drops onto the couch beside Hugh, propping his feet up with a sigh.

"Okay, I'll bite."

"Hmmm?"

Paul meets his eyes with confusion, no trace of mischief or evasion on his face.

"This," Hugh raises the cup between them before draining the last of it and setting it down.

Frowning, Paul picks up the cup and glances inside.

"Oh. Did it not give you hot cho-"

"Paul."

He says his name with affectionate exasperation, so Paul knows it's not a precursor for something bad.

"What?"

"It was hot chocolate, the way I like it, down to the peppermint sprinkles and whipped cream."

"Oh, okay."

Paul looks relieved, as if it was perfectly normal for the synthesizer to automatically provide his partner with his preferred beverage at all hours.

"So Tilly thinks-"

"Sweetheart, what are you up to?"

"Nothing? What do you mean?"

Propping his elbow on the back of the couch, Hugh tugs Paul's legs over his lap and shakes his head.

"So I love it when you make sure I have my coffee in the morning, and I'm not complaining at all, but sweetheart, you don't need to go through the trouble of programming it every time when you're not home when I get here."

The frown that was starting to form melts away.

"It's not- I don't have to do anything for it. I mean, at first it was pretty straightforward when we're on the same schedule, I just order it with mine. But then we got out of sync, and I didn't want you to not have coffee. So I programmed it to scan the duty roster and work that way."

"...but how does it know when I'm going to be late?"

"Oh. Right. I re-wired it to cross-talk with the door sensor."

"Doesn't that mean you'll set it off too?"

"No. So it starts with checking the duty roster. Then I had it check if anyone is in our quarters, and cross-references that with the roster. If neither of us is here, it defaults back to the door circuit, but only if it picks up your bio-readings and the shower isn't on. I set it so the type of drink goes with the time of day relative to your shifts and whenever you set the alarm, so it'll work even when you're not on alpha."

Hugh knows his mouth is hanging open, and he blinks slowly a few times, letting the information sink in.

"But if I didn't get it right, I can always-mmmmmphhh."

He takes his time with the kiss, thorough and deep, and only lets Paul up for air a couple of minutes later.

"Ummm. So I'm guessing it's okay?"

Hugh laughs, taking his hand and tugging him to his feet.

"Sweetheart, that's one of the most romantic things you've ever done."

Paul frowns again.

"I wasn't trying to be romantic. It was completely practical."

"Mmmhmmm. That's what I love about you."

He reels Paul back in, wrapping his arms around his waist and wiggling their hips together.

"Let me show you how much I appreciate it?"

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a three-liner about Paul programming the synthesizer to make Hugh's morning coffee for him automatically. It took on a life of its own when I started thinking about schedule changes, and hopefully hasn't gone too overboard with details :)


	82. Six (Words)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-watching the season 2 finale yet again, because reasons.

It’s said between gritted teeth as Hugh uses his palm in the middle of Paul’s chest to push him back down onto the biobed with as much force as he dares, trying to assess the damage from the spore drive connectors.

It’s murmured in the shower as he holds them both up, Paul’s eyes screwed shut with pain from his migraine.

It’s whispered into Paul’s ear, lips barely brushing the skin as he moans and arches up beneath Hugh.

It’s almost a mantra, words as much a part of Hugh as his smile, simple but taking on a different meaning each time. 

Paul thought he would never get to hear them again, never hear the familiar voice issuing them as a command, a plea, a promise.

He was wrong.

Hugh’s voice shakes with fear and determination, but his hands are steady as he runs the regenerator over the wound in Paul’s chest.

”Let me take care of you.”

Paul closes his eyes with a smile.


	83. Steadfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilly’s perspective in “Saints of Imperfection”.

It’s been one hell of a day - put mildly - for Ensign Sylvia Tilly, what with being...well, _inhabited_ by a mycelial entity taking on the visage of a dead woman, transported between dimensions by said entity after her boss had to drill a hole in her skull to try to talk to the same being, and Discovery parking itself halfway in the network just so Stamets and Burnham could retrieve her.

So she’s understandably more keyed up than after a triple espresso. Rounding a corner to find that the expected monster is actually a murdered colleague while accompanying the grieving partner of that person, is almost the last straw. On top of it all, having May screaming at her and the apparently-real Culber fleeing their presence with Stamets on his heels makes her want to shove her fingers in her ears and pretend this all isn’t happening.

It’s a passing impulse, amplified by the eldritch-like, ethereal nature of the mycelial plane. She can’t imagine how Doctor Culber managed to survive months in here if just a few hours has her wanting to climb out of her skin. 

Michael is talking over the communicator, but Tilly isn’t listening. Instead, she’s thinking about the look of pure torment on Doctor Culber’s face when Stamets spoke, the way he’d crouched against the wall, hunched in on himself as if expecting a blow.

When they track them down, she has barely a few seconds to react before the spores are suddenly attacking her throat, burning like a hundred angry bees. She tosses the phaser rifle to the side, hand flying up to cover the skin. May is a blur beside her- 

Oh no.

No. No no NO.

Stamets is using his own body as a shield, and she doesn’t doubt for a moment that he would die to protect Culber. 

_Please, don’t let it come to that_, she implores whatever higher power might exist.

May swings the rifle wildly, pointing it at the two men on the floor, then up at Tilly and Michael, approaching with their hands held out in the universal gesture of no harm. She can’t look away from May’s face, stricken with fear and panic, tries to make her see reason. Mycelial creature or not, Tilly knows the connection they somehow had is real, wills her to understand that killing isn’t the answer.

Once the phaser is safely in her hands and set back to stun, she turns her attention to the other occupants of the room. 

Even if she knew nothing about them beforehand, the body language between Stamets and Culber would tell her everything about their relationship. Doctor Culber was a strongly built man, one impeccably groomed and who walked with the confidence of someone comfortable in his body. Now, what remains of his white uniform is filthy, exposing patches of abraded skin. He’s whimpering and clutching Stamets’ arm like a lifeline, seeming so small and vulnerable.

For his part, she can see where Stamets’ hands are shaking, even as he shelters Culber against his side. He relates the story of how he could have transferred Culber here, and she can’t imagine what it must have been like to find his partner’s lifeless body essentially at his feet. There’s so much tenderness in the way Stamets’ fingers curve around his jaw that Tilly has to swallow down a lump in her throat. 

Then they’re running through the ship again, back to the spore cube as Discovery shudders around them. May looks just as terrified, and Tilly wonders if her people would understand the damage they’re causing.

Seeing the anguish on Stamets’ face, hearing Doctor Culber’s voice break when his hand dissolves into nothingness across the barrier between realities, those are things she’ll remember for the rest of her life. The impending destruction of the ship seems insignificant in comparison to the cruelest sort of hope turning to heartbreak. Stamets has been physically present ever since Culber died, but she doesn’t know if his heart can survive losing him again.

She can’t let this be the end of their story.

It’s a leap of faith in the end, her farewell to May and cramming themselves into the spore cube as Stamets jumps them back out. 

The jump is rough, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked from her lungs before slamming back into her body at full force. They stumble out of the cube together, Michael catching her arm as she sways on her feet, turning to stare at the cocoon still pulsing on the deck.

Tilly wasn’t raised with a religion, but offers up her own sort of prayer - a fierce belief in the science of it all, along with a plea that something so broken be made whole.

They wait, Stamets shaking his head. Just when she’s about to break down herself, the cocoon shimmers before collapsing in on itself. It melts away, into the form of a very naked Hugh Culber curled on the deck. 

For a moment, all they can do is stare. Then Culber’s ragged inhale cuts through the tense silence, and Stamets is rushing to his side with the sob of someone too close to the edge of breaking granted a miraculous reprieve. He pulls Culber into his arms, cradling his head and shoulders, and there’s such profound joy on his face that Tilly isn’t ashamed at her own tears. Michael is crying beside her, and they cling to each other while witnessing this impossible reunion.

Today, against all odds, love wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized at the end that I hadn’t included any dialogue. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, more a sense that it isn’t needed to tell this part of the story.
> 
> The chapter title is meant as a description of Tilly herself.


	84. Secure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Role reversal from Chapter 76 (“Spoons”).

Paul gasps, heart pounding. 

He thinks his eyes are open, but he can’t see anything beyond what’s playing in his head - a strangely lit alien forest filled with glowing trees covered in spreading darkness, a palace filled with malevolent orange light, a feeling of unimaginable grief.

Is it a dream, or are they memories?

He’s so alone. 

Cold. 

A single note cut off from his symphony.

Overwhelmed, a sob breaks free from his tightening chest. He curls in on himself, knees nearly touching his elbows, covering his face with his hands. Tears flow freely, something inside twisting in agony, and it’s too much-

“Sweetheart?”

A single word, rough with sleep but so full of concern and care that it feels like a tangible thing.

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, rolls him onto his back. He doesn’t trust his voice, just reaches blindly forward until he encounters soft fabric over a warm body. Then he’s lunging forward, burying his face against Hugh’s chest and shaking uncontrollably.

Arms close around his shoulders as soon as Hugh catches his breath from the force of Paul’s impact.

”Sweetheart? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Familiar, beloved hands stroke down his back, cradle his head as his cries of anguish turn into tears of relief.

”Hey...” Hugh presses a kiss into his hair, “talk to me. What’s going on?”

Paul shakes his head, gasping breaths turning into hiccups.

A sigh, then the covers are being pulled up around his shoulders, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“Did you have a nightmare? Is it- are you...the mission to the Glenn?”

He pulls back just far enough to be heard.

”No.”

”Love, you’re scaring me.”

”Please don’t leave me,” he balls his hands into fists around Hugh’s shirt, “please don’t ever leave me.”

”Shhhh. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. But what’s this all about?”

More kisses, to his temple and forehead as Hugh manages to haul him up until they’re both sitting amidst the bedding.

”I just...” 

Paul trails off, not even sure he can explain.

”M’sorry.”

Hugh takes his face in both hands, guiding him to look up. 

”Hey...sorry for what? A bad dream?”

”I do- don’t know. Just so alone...”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. See-“ he fumbles for Paul’s hand and presses it to his chest over his heart, “right here. Not alone. I’m never leaving you, I promise.”

He takes an uneven breath, grounding himself in Hugh’s presence, his steady heartbeat.

”Do you want to talk about it?”

”Can’t. Not...not right now.”

”Okay.”

Hugh kisses the tears off his cheeks, lips firm. The last kiss is on Paul’s mouth, lingering. Then he eases them back down to the sheets on their sides, tucking himself behind Paul and wrapping both arms around him.

”Think you can go back to sleep?”

A nod.

”I’ll be right here, sweetheart.”

Another soft kiss behind his ear, Hugh continuing to murmur reassurances and words of love. Held close and secure in his love’s arms, Paul closes his eyes again.

Just a dream.


	85. Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something essentially plotless as an apology for the angst I keep writing. Sexy times below, very mature and probably bordering on explicit.

“Hi love,” Hugh calls from the bed as the doors swish shut behind Paul. 

“Mmmm.”

He kicks his boots off, unzipping his jacket and dumping his carryall on the way over to collect a quick kiss.

Hugh sets down his PADD, propping himself up on an elbow and watching Paul discard his uniform with a small smile.

”Shower?”

He shakes his head, still enjoying the view.

”Did already, sorry babe.”

Paul pouts a little at him, but it’s a form protest and not serious disappointment. He retrieves his bag, fishing out a handful of data solids that he leaves on the desk along with a small box.

”What’s that?”

”Hmmm? Oh, Tilly picked up bunch of things at the Vulcan outpost we stopped on last week. Said she and Michael couldn’t eat it all, and thought we might like it. Something starts with an R I think?”

Hugh’s smile turns indulgent and fond.

“She’s a keeper,” he murmurs, watching Paul not even attempt to deny the statement. 

“Yeah. Sure you don’t wanna come in?”

”Go on,” Hugh makes a shooting motion, “faster you clean up, the faster you can come to bed.”

Paul can’t deny the logic, and pads into the bathroom. He skips a steam shower in favor of the sonics for efficiency, looking forward to some quiet cuddles with Hugh. It’s the best part of the day, even better than sex (although he doesn’t have any complaints at all), all of his worries and stress forced to wait outside the circle of Hugh’s arms. He’s halfway through brushing his teeth when he thinks he hears Hugh say something, but can’t quite make it out past the whirring. 

“Wha-?” he pauses and calls out around the handle, expecting a request for a glass of water or something on his way back out.

Instead, he’s met with a low groan. Paul didn’t get a look at what was on Hugh’s PADD, but it doesn’t quite sound like his love is annoyed at something he's reading, and he can't think of what might be the cause.

“Hugh?”

No reply.

Then, another sound that is much closer to erotic than frustrated. It’s within the realm of possibility that Hugh is reading - or watching - something naughty. _(“Come on Hugh, ‘naughty’ sounds like you’re six years old and stayed up all night playing holo-games.” “Mmm. Let me show you what I mean. You've been **naughty,** Lieutenant. Drop your pants and bend over.”) _It’s not like either of them is bothered by knowing the other still likes to fly solo, particularly when they both enjoy watching, but usually a horny Hugh would have followed him into the shower and made his desires well known.

Intrigued, Paul quickly finishes brushing his teeth and washes his face. He pulls on his pajamas in case he’s wrong though, leaning over to rinse the last of the gel from his hair. The sonics never quite manage to remove all of the residue, and he knows how much Hugh loves seeing him without it. Drying his hair briskly, he grabs a clean towel on his way out of the bathroom. If the night is heading that direction, he might as well think ahead so they don’t have to get out of bed to clean up after.

“Are you starting something without me?”

_Oh._

_Oh my._

Hugh is under the covers, knees folded up and eyes closed. He has his middle and index fingers in his mouth, sucking them in a way that’s completely obscene, pulling them out to lick between them before doing the same with his thumb.

Paul’s frozen in place at the sight, feels something below the waist twitch with interest at the wet sounds Hugh’s lips and tongue are making.

_Fuck_, Hugh was made for seduction.

Hugh’s hand dips out of sight for a moment, and Paul’s mouth goes dry when it reappears and he returns to lapping at his own fingers. 

“Hugh?”

Dark amber eyes open slowly, and Hugh turns his head to smile at Paul, licking his lips.

”Mmm. Want to have a taste?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice.

Paul strips off his shirt and nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to scramble across the mattress, pulling up short when his knee hits something hard amidst the sheets, and not the sort of hard something he expected to find.

“What the...?”

Sitting back on his heels, he tugs the duvet down to reveal a small cardboard box, the same one he’d left on the desk. The lid is off, and inside he can see what looks like several discs of chocolate. As his brain tries to process, Hugh plucks one out and pops it into his mouth, humming in clear sensual enjoyment. 

Well.

Paul’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or curious that whatever this is apparently rates orgasmic moans.

”Ummm.”

His face is probably bright red. 

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

”Uhhh. So, you’re not...?”

Hugh’s licking his fingers again, expression puzzled and innocent.

“Not what?”

”I thought you were, you know,” he makes a crude stroking gesture, “but umm. Never mind.”

The confusion clears away into a smile that’s both amused and indulgent.

”Awww. Sorry to disappoint. I just haven’t had these in _forever_, and the synthesizer never gets the texture right.”

Deflating a little, Paul tosses the towel he’s been gripping onto the nightstand and adjusts the front of his pants, dick still convinced that Hugh’s satisfied hum should be sexual. Hugh tracks the movement, and a moment later the playful expression on his partner’s face turns wicked. He searches through the box again and holds out a piece, wiggling it enticingly.

“Come have a taste.”

Paul leans forward, lets Hugh place it on his tongue. His hand lingers as Paul chews, thumb brushing over his lips.

”Good?”

He takes a few seconds before answering, considering. It’s a pleasant texture, and he has to admit that the combination of flavors is awfully good, even if it’s too sweet for his own tastes. It’s nice, but doesn’t seem to rate Hugh’s reaction. 

”Sure.”

Hugh looks slightly disappointed at his less than enthusiastic response.(

“You know how much I like chocolate and peanut butter.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t sounded like you were going to come while we're eating dessert before.”

“Are you pouting?”

He’s definitely pouting. 

“No!”

Hugh levels a look at him, and Paul relents.

”Yeah. A little. Can you blame me? Normally I’m the only one that makes you sound like that.”

“Sorry,” Hugh sounds anything but, “that’s the one thing I’ve ever eaten that’s almost as good as sex.”

"Should I be offended by that?"

Hugh moves the box to the nightstand, kicking back the covers and patting his thigh. 

“Come here, sweetheart.”

He waits until Paul’s settled straddling his hips before pulling him down for a kiss. One kiss turns into two, into a dozen, giggling and squirming as Hugh nuzzles a sensitive spot just under his jaw.

"You ridiculous man."

_"Your_ ridiculous man."

They rest their foreheads together, smiling. Then his breath catches as the playful warmth in Hugh's expression melts into something more intimate.

“Mmm, should we deal with this?” he murmurs, warm hand cupping the half-hard bulge in Paul’s pants, “feels like you might have a little bit of a problem.”

“It’s your fault,” Paul mutters, attempting to look put out and failing miserably, judging by Hugh’s grin, “and it’s not little.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of my relationship with chocolate.”

He struggles to keep his voice level when the next squeeze is more purposeful, palm rubbing firmly.

“I don’t know about that. But you were definitely comparing it to sex.”

“I said ‘almost as good’.”

Paul lets his hands wander, roaming over Hugh’s covered torso, tracing pectoral muscles and stealing under the shirt hem to tease his stomach.

“I might need to disprove that.”

"Oh?”

Beneath him, Hugh has his best ‘prove it’ face on, but the affection in his eyes negates the intended defiant expression.

"Mmmmhmm.”

Hugh rocks his hips, and Paul can feel something starting to fill out nicely. Just above that, Hugh’s hand hasn’t moved, and now those skilled fingers are stroking him through the thin fabric. He drops down for more kisses, thrusting into the delicious grip and losing himself in the hot slide of lips and tongues.

By the time they separate again, Hugh's thumb is circling the growing damp spot on his pants and they're both fully erect. He sits back up, bouncing a couple of times and enjoying the firmness being pressed against very sensitive areas, before tugging at the hem of Hugh's shirt.

"Off."

Releasing him, Hugh complies, tossing the shirt onto the floor and settling his hands on Paul's hips. 

"Better?"

"Mmmhmm."

Maintaining eye contact, Paul reaches out and retrieves another piece of chocolate from the box. He lets the confection melt a little against his skin before popping it into his mouth. Then he leans down to kiss Hugh again, open mouthed and filthy, sharing the treat on his tongue. Hugh moans hungrily, devouring his mouth with long sweeps of tongue and more than a hint of teeth. He can taste chocolate and peanut butter and the distinct flavor of _Hugh, _and objectively it ought to be a little off-putting, but he supposes it’s no different than kissing ice cream or cake frosting off each other’s lips. 

Hugh’s mouth is smeared with sticky sweetness when they separate, and Paul licks it away. 

"Fuck, sweetheart..."

He traces Hugh's swollen lips, lust breaking over him when he catches Paul's index finger between his teeth and suckles the tip suggestively. 

Paul pulls his hand back and selects another piece, slowly feeding it to his love. Instead of giving Hugh his fingers to suck again though, he reaches down and very deliberately wipes his hand - and the melted chocolate - over his own chest.

”Oh, oops.”

”Look at that mess,” Hugh murmurs, playing along, “do you want me to help clean you up?”

He nods, biting his lip to try and contain his smile. 

Under him, Hugh pushes up on his elbows, shifting them both and stuffing another pillow behind his back until he can sit up. He starts at Paul's collarbone, following the trail of chocolate with his tongue in a curving path that ends at his right nipple. 

"Fuck."

Paul’s never been ashamed to admit that he loves having his nipples played with, particularly when Hugh is the one doing it. There's been occasions where Hugh spent the better part of an hour working his chest over, pinching and rubbing and plucking at the sensitive flesh until Paul can’t stand it any more and comes hard riding Hugh’s thigh. 

Looking up from beneath his lashes, Hugh swirls his tongue around the nub, flicking rapidly, then teasing with a hint of teeth before suckling gently. Paul clutches at his shoulders, pushing his chest forward for more attention. Hugh switches sides, fingers busy with the damp skin he's just abandoned, moaning as if he were the one being pleasured. He grinds down harder onto Hugh’s lap, excited by his partner’s excitement. 

There's nothing else in the universe like getting off on Hugh getting him off.

It takes all of his willpower not to just mindlessly rut together to orgasm. Instead, he works a hand between their sweaty torsos, fumbling for the drawstrings on Hugh's pants. Without pulling his mouth off, Hugh ignores Paul's whine for the few seconds it takes to effortlessly lift them both up enough to shove his pants down around his hips, fingers returning immediately to the abandoned nipple. Paul swiftly unbuttons the fly on his own pants, moaning as he slips free from the confining fabric and again when Hugh's unoccupied hand gropes his ass. They're both leaking profusely, gliding slickly when he gathers them together in his grip and begins to stroke.

He's probably scratching Hugh's shoulder too hard with the other hand, but neither of them seem to care as he picks up speed. In response, Hugh squeezes his ass again, fingers pressing into the cleft. Their moans and Paul's harsh panting fill the air, growing more frantic.

"...fuck me...so close-"

Hugh releases his ass and tangles his fingers in Paul's hair, tugging sharply.

That's it.

Paul holds Hugh's head to his chest, arching his back as he comes onto their stomachs. He whites out for a few seconds, caught in an endless feedback loop of ecstasy between his chest and groin, dimly aware of Hugh continuing to suckle and lick his nipple. As soon as he's done shaking through his orgasm, Hugh rolls them over and moves to straddle his torso. He pauses, eyes searching. Dazed, Paul answers the silent question by opening his mouth. 

Still gripping a fistful of hair, Hugh rises up and thrusts into that welcoming heat, hot and thick and bitter with the evidence of Paul's pleasure. His thighs drag over Paul's now exquisitely sensitive nipples, and the resulting moans vibrating around him send Hugh over the edge. He's considerate enough not to push forward too far and choke his partner, but it's a near thing.

Spent, he pulls free and drops onto the sweaty sheets at Paul's side.

"...wow."

Paul swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah."

They lay there, side by side and catching their breath. Eventually, Paul hauls himself to the edge of the bed and manages to retrieve the towel, cleaning off his stomach before passing it to Hugh to do the same. Both of them kick off their pants, and Paul orders the lights off. 

Hugh settles next to him on the pillow, grimacing apologetically at Paul's wince when his hand lands on a nipple.

"Sorry, love. Too sensitive?"

"Yeah. Don't be sorry though. That was...fucking hot.”

"Want your shirt back?"

"Nah, that'll hurt more."

Hugh hums acknowledgement, arm moving to circle his waist instead.

"What...are those. Anyway?"

"Huh?"

Hugh's not at his most eloquent after orgasm and on the edge of sleep.

"Those chocolate things."

"Oh. Old Earth candy. Peanut butter cups."

"Fuck. Remind me to thank Tilly."

"Going to tell her why?"

"...no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilson has said on more than one occasion that any combination of chocolate and peanut butter is his weakness.


	86. Sorry, Part One-Thousand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilly’s getting better at finding her boss and his partner being cozy, mostly because it just keeps happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a tongue in cheek reference to Chapter 14 (“Sorry!”), when Tilly accidentally interrupts a far more risqué activity.

“Lieutenant? I finished purging the system, but I think I have an idea for a better way to do it faster and I was wondering if you could come che- oh. Ummm. Whoa. Sorry! I-“

Hugh raises his head up from where it’s pillowed on Paul’s chest, holding a finger to his lips to silence her apology before it starts. Paul’s frantic bursts of spore-infused energy leave Hugh exhausted just watching, but getting him to slow down and rest at anything resembling regular hours has been even more impossible. When his comms went unanswered, Hugh had gone down to the cultivation bay to find Paul slouched against a pile of soil, sound asleep. Gentle shaking hadn’t roused him, so Hugh decided to make himself comfortable and at least enjoy the sound of Paul’s heartbeat under his ear.

Of course, he’s forgotten that Tilly is the only other person on the ship who can enter the bay unannounced, and so he really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s found them this way. He must look a sight, lying on top of her sleeping boss without his jacket on and head tucked below Paul’s chin. There’s going to be dirt all over his white uniform, but it seems a small price to pay to steal some snuggles.

Paul shifts under him, frowning, and they both freeze until he settles again, arms moving off the ground to embrace Hugh’s shoulders.

Tilly’s eyes have gone wider than usual, and she’s blushing furiously. She seems less scandalized and more embarrassed at her own reaction than anything. 

He holds out an open hand, gesturing for her to hand him the PADD she’s clutching, nodding his thanks and placing it down beside them. 

“_Sorry_” she mouths at him, and he waves it off with a flick of his fingers before dropping his head back down. 

Hugh thinks he sees a little bit of romantic dreaminess in her eyes and hides a smile; she’s a sweet young woman and he’s glad that Paul has her to keep him from becoming too withdrawn. She turns back around and creeps out with exaggerated care. The doors swish shut behind her, the bay once again empty save for the two of them and his love’s beloved mushrooms.

Paul is warm and he doesn’t stir when his jacket is slowly unzipped, scent filling Hugh’s lungs with every breath. Sighing in contentment, he sets an alarm on his comm and lets his eyes fall closed again.

It’s a tiny island of respite in the middle of a long and terrible war, but he’ll take it.


	87. Sorry, Part One-Thousand (and One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul wakes up. Continued directly from the previous chapter.

Before he opens his eyes, Paul isn’t exactly sure where he is. He remembers fatigue setting in suddenly as he knelt scanning the root system in one corner of the bay, his tricorder gone heavy in his hands and vision blurring. There’s a vague recollection of moving to sit against one of the many small hillocks, intending to rest his eyes for a few minutes, and nothing beyond that.

He thinks he’s still in the bay, because he can smell the special nutrient-rich soil that _Stella-_ likes to grow in, and the earthy dampness of the mushrooms themselves. The air is humid and warm, except that doesn’t explain the weight stretching from torso to shin over his left side. It’s not unpleasant in the slightest, but his sleepy brain doesn’t think the sensation belongs in this particular place.

_Hmmm_.

Whatever it is, it’s pulling him back towards slumber, an almost hardwired imperative to relax. 

A few spores land on his face, tiny spots of zinging coolness that make him wrinkle his nose and roll his head to dislodge them. As he does, something tickles the underside of his jaw. Without thinking about why, he rubs his cheek against those soft bristles of close-cropped hair, hearing a quiet sigh that doesn’t seem to have come from him. The thought makes his arms tighten where they’re wrapped comfortably around the weight on his body, fingers flexing.

The pieces fall into place. 

_Hugh_.

Paul frowns in momentary confusion even as he feels his lips stretching into a smile.

_What’s he doing here?_

His right hand is curved around the back of the man’s neck, cradling Hugh’s head against his chest. Hugh is laying halfway on top of him, one leg between his thighs and left hand snugged under Paul’s jacket, fingers tucked into his right armpit. Paul can feel his boots still on, which means they aren’t lying down in their quarters, but he never wakes up being cuddled like this anywhere else. It feels like there’s grit under his collar, so he forces his eyes open reluctantly and is met with the iridescent glitter of spores in the fungal forest. 

Oh.

They’re most definitely on the ground in the cultivation bay, dirt below his head and still in full uniform save for an unzipped jacket, blanketed by Hugh’s body. Looking down, he can see smudges of that same dirt on the seat of Hugh’s white pants, arms bared by his undershirt. The lights have gone down to night cycle, and while he isn’t sure exactly what time he must have drifted off, it couldn’t have been any later than 1600. No wonder he feels so rested.

There’s a PADD on the ground near his right shoulder, and he carefully detaches a hand to pick it up. Thumbing it on, Tilly’s distinctive hand-scribbled notes annotate a schematic of the injection coupler, and he loses himself for a few minutes studying her proposed changes before realizing what its presence means. 

It’s not his personal PADD, but one of those ubiquitous in the drive room. He doesn’t remember carrying it in with him, which means either Tilly gave it to Hugh and he brought it with him, or she came in and saw him sleeping. Possibly with a Hugh-shaped blanket. The time stamp is 1800, an hour after Hugh went off shift, so it’s possibly the former, but he has the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to have to contend with more starry-eyed looks the next time she joins him and Hugh for lunch. The thought doesn’t displease him.

His partner’s comm is blinking with an alarm that’s clearly gone ignored for quite a while. He resets the timer for another half hour before returning his arm to Hugh’s shoulders. Paul probably won’t fall asleep again, but he’d rather not have to walk out past the gamma shift crew who most certainly _will_ gossip if the Chief Engineer and CMO emerge from the bay together disheveled after 2200.

Sighing, he adjusts his grip on the PADD until he can see the screen comfortably and loads up the daily reports. If he finishes them all now before Hugh wakes up, he can concentrate on snuggling when they finally make it back to their quarters and maybe Hugh won’t give him that understanding but slightly disappointed look when Paul brings his calculations to bed.

_Yes, that’s an excellent plan._

He kisses Hugh’s forehead and sets to work.


	88. Slick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy, slightly silly and sweet, but mostly sensual lovemaking when Paul's too tired for more. Contains some delightfully dirty talk :)

“Babe?”

Through the frosted glass door, Hugh can just make out a Paul-shaped figure at the bathroom counter. He checks the chrono on the shower control panel - 2318. Paul’s worked a double at the end of two weeks on straight, and Hugh honestly wasn’t sure whether his partner would even be home tonight at all. It’s just as likely he might have passed out over a console in the lab, or curled up in a corner of the cultivation bay. 

"Yeah."

Paul sounds a bit tired, but otherwise no worse for the wear. Glancing down, he considers the activity his partner's arrival home interrupted. He debates between finishing up quickly or leaving it and seeing if Paul's interested in helping Hugh take care of things. It's not really a fair competition by any standards; even a lazy, sleepy handjob is a million times better than relieving tension alone. Rinsing the soap suds away, he shuts off the shower and retrieves a towel, wrapping it carefully around his waist. He brushes his teeth and shuts off the bathroom light, foregoing pajamas and just leaving the towel on. There's no disguising his interest, but it's not as though there's any modesty left between them (or subtlety - Paul responds best to a direct request for sex).

The bedside light is on, and Paul is sprawled over the sheets on Hugh's side, face buried in his pillow. All four limbs are spread in different directions, a Stamets-shaped starfish with bare feet and messy hair.

"Hi," Paul mumbles into the pillow, barely twitching when Hugh gives his backside an affectionate squeeze, "I missed you."

"Missed you too, sweetheart."

Paul doesn't look like he's interested in moving, so Hugh simply climbs on top, straddling his waist and scratching over his shoulders.

"Mmmm. You have all night to stop that."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm."

Hugh inches up the shirt hem, digging his thumbs into Paul's lower back and rubbing slow circles.

"What do I get if I do?"

"My undying love and devotion?"

"Got that already," he scoots back until he's sitting on Paul's thighs and blithely starts kneading his ass.

"Ummm. Hi?"

Grinning, Hugh leans forward until the tented towel nudges against a firm cheek.

"Hello."

Beneath him, Paul pushes up on his elbows and rolls over, and Hugh drops a few playful kisses on the end of his nose and cheeks.

"Someone's in the mood."

"Someone," he moves his mouth to Paul's collarbone, "was in the middle of spending quality time with his hand when his ridiculously hot partner came home."

"You-" Paul breaks off, shivering when Hugh nips at his covered shoulder, "-should I be jealous of this ridiculously hot guy?"

Instead of answering out loud, Hugh captures his lips in a thorough kiss, smiling as Paul hums low in his throat. When they separate for air, Paul tilts his head to the side and runs an affectionate hand over his cheek.

"Sorry to interrupt."

He thrusts against Paul's stomach a few times, enjoying the give to his midsection. 

"Oh, don't be. I know how you can make it up to me."

Whatever Paul is planning to say next is lost in a massive yawn. 

"Babe..."

Paul starts tugging the loose towel free, eyelids heavy but expression determined.

"I think-" he fails to stifle another yawn, "all this is for me?"

Setting his arousal aside, Hugh really looks at him, taking in the dark circles under his love's eyes and the way he's struggling to stay focused. Ahhh. He lets himself feel disappointed for all of three seconds, then banishes the thought.

“Don’t worry about it love, I’ll just go-“

He’s shaking his head, expression adamant as he reaches down, stroking Hugh with none of his usual finesse.

”Nuh uhh. Missed you too. C’n have me.”

His fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated with fatigue, and Hugh gently stills them before extricating himself from their loose grip.

”Sweetheart, I’ll be fine." 

"I could suck you."

"Babe, I love you, but falling asleep with my dick in your mouth is a bad idea. For both of us."

"You're horny, I'm here, and we haven't had sex in two weeks."

The look in Paul's eyes is both stubborn and sleepy, which touches a much softer part of his heart that has nothing to do with lust. Hugh rolls off of him, kicking the towel to the foot of the bed and running his fingers through Paul's hair.

"Leaving off how cute you are when you pout," he drops a kiss on Paul's protruding lower lip, "it _has_ been a couple of weeks, which means a few more hours or another day won't hurt either of us."

"But I wanna make you feel good."

"I can wait till you're awake enough to enjoy it too.”

Paul traces a finger over the tip of his half-hard erection and Hugh can't help the moan his caress evokes.

"I'm getting you off, and then we can both go to sleep."

He climbs over Hugh's body (slowly) and digs in the drawer on his side, objects rattling. Hugh smiles up at the ceiling, shaking his head a little before giving in. A Paul on a mission isn't one to be argued with.

"Is that so, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Doctor," his lover mutters into the drawer. 

Hugh props himself up on an elbow, curious as to what he's looking for. Paul's half of the toy collection mostly consists of things for their more exciting times (quick release cord keyed to their voices, a blindfold, the deceptively small vibrator that makes him moan so prettily when Hugh uses it), so it's a toss up as to what he thinks he's awake enough to use. His free hand drifts south, giving himself a couple of strokes while he watches Paul's ass flex.

"Hmph."

"Babe?"

Paul climbs back over him, now digging in Hugh's drawer. He makes a triumphant noise, turning back and nearly fumbling the bottle of lube before it lands safely on the duvet. 

“Help me?” he waves vaguely downwards, plucking at the drawstring on his pants.

Never one to object to his partner getting undressed, Hugh lets go of himself and seconds later has Paul naked from the waist down.

"Going to tell me what we're doing?"

"You'll see."

He frowns at the stuck lid on the bottle until Hugh uses brute force to uncap it and hands it back. Smirking, Paul lies flat and pours out a palmful, spreading it over his groin.

Oh. Oh yes, Hugh is very much on board with where this is going.

"Haven't done this in a while."

”Well-“

”That wasn’t a complaint, babe.”

Hugh retrieves his abandoned towel, helping Paul slide it underneath himself to protect the sheets and then leaning down for another kiss. Paul’s inner thighs glisten with slick and Hugh moves to straddle his legs, squirming until his erection slots into the slippery hotness. He waits for Paul to cross his ankles, then he's being tugged upwards a few inches, moaning when his first thrust ends with him pressed into the cleft of Paul's ass.

"Fuck, sweetheart...," he murmurs into Paul's mouth, hips rocking, "is it okay? Can I touch you?" 

"Mmmhmm. Don't think I'm gonna get hard, but yeah- ohhhh. Yes."

He smiles into the kiss, fondling Paul's soft cock and balls and drinking in the soft sighs it produces. It satisfies his need to reciprocate, palm slippery with excess lube as it glides over silky skin, and he drops his head to rest on Paul's shoulder while he sets up a steady rhythm. It's a little odd for them (Paul especially) to be so quiet during sex, but when he steals a glance at his face he can see a tiny smile and the tiniest sliver of blue visible through his lashes as he watches Hugh rut between his thighs. 

"Tomorrow, when we're both awake," Paul murmurs into his ear, "after breakfast. In the shower, I wanna suck you off."

Hugh fingers search across the sheets until he can hold Paul's hand, moaning as he somehow manages to squeeze his thighs even closer together.

"...oh god, that's- that'll feel so good. Missed your- mmm, missed your mouth."

Paul's free hand slides down from his waist to grope his ass.

"After I make you come, I'll take you back to bed, Hugh."

"...yeah?"

He's clenching his cheeks for Hugh, the tight heat and drag of friction pushing him closer to the edge.

"Mmmhmm. I'll wait till you're hard again. Open you up on my tongue."

"Fuck..."

“Lick you till you can’t stand it any more. Let you ride my fingers.”

The fingers pressed into the cleft of his ass delve deeper, teasing. 

"Can I fuck you, baby?" Paul's words tickle his ear, tongue flicking out to lick at the sensitive skin, “It'll be so good, I'll make you feel so good."

”Please...”

His breath hitches. Hugh gives up thinking and chases his climax. 

"Mmmm. Gonna come in yo-"

Paul's erotic narration is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He thrusts wildly as he slicks Paul's inner thighs with his release, shirt collar caught between his teeth. Moaning, he rides it out, hips twitching until the aftershocks trail off. 

Eventually, he drifts back towards awareness, feeling Paul's fingers squeezing his gently.

"Hugh?"

"...hmmm."

"Can't breathe."

His lover's voice is slurred with drowsiness, and it reminds him of their situation. He carefully extricates himself from between Paul's legs, grabbing a corner of the towel to clean them both up with and tossing it towards the bathroom once he's sure that the sheets are relatively dry. Paul's barely awake when he finishes, but the smile he offers is sweet and satisfied.

"Mmm. Better?"

"Better because you're here, but yeah, thank you sweetheart."

" 'lcome."

He kisses Paul's shoulder, breathing in clean sweat and laundry detergent from the pajama top he's still wearing. 

"Love you."

Paul sighs, but doesn’t reply. He frowns, raising his head off the pillow. 

"Babe?"

Silence. 

"Babe...you're on my side."

A quiet snore is the only response. 

Groaning, Hugh climbs off the bed, leaning on it as he slowly moves around. Paul's out for the night it looks like, confirmed when he doesn't even stir as Hugh rolls him over until he's more or less in the middle of the mattress and Hugh has two-thirds of his pillow back. He orders the lights off, snuggling close and tugging the covers up around them. 

Tomorrow’s going to be so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is me procrastinating while working on the next chapter of When Sorrow Turns To Joy. I have sooooo much of the later stuff written, but keep getting stuck on the gap-fillers because I want them to feel right. Argh!


	89. Self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of When Sorrow Turns To Joy.

“Do you...not-“ Paul looks away, blinking rapidly, eyes shining with tears, “do you not love me any more?”

His voice trails off, question barely audible, but Hugh hears it more loudly than anything else could sound. 

Paul’s broken, and it’s his fault, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it right now without hurting him further.


	90. Sapient

When Christopher Pike first sets foot on Discovery, he's had about three hours to prepare. Theoretically. Making sure that his ship and her crew are in mostly one piece takes up two and a half of those hours, so he actually has just under thirty minutes to read through the briefing materials and make a few notes, including the time it takes to walk from the Bridge to the transporter room (Una snatches the PADD from him on his way down and magically appears there ahead of him with a data solid). 

It would be a lot to take in about any ship in ordinary circumstances, and this is neither by a wide margin. So while he scans through a condensed version of the classified report on Discovery's Displacement Activated Spore Hub Drive (condensed by Una, because Chief Louvier was literally up to his elbows in Enterprise's mechanical guts), service records for the bridge crew and senior staff, and Command's dossier on Captain Gabriel Lorca, he's painfully aware of the fact that he's walking into one of the most challenging situations of his life. This crew has been through hell quite literally, not just the war but their own part in seeing it to its end and the trauma suffered along the way. He can't imagine finding out that an officer on the ship was a Klingon sleeper agent, and that said agent also murdered the well-liked Chief Medical Officer whose partner just happened to be the Chief Engineer operating the DASH drive. Add to that jumping to a parallel universe (the report doesn't explicitly state that, but he's adept enough to read between the lines), and he's honestly amazed that Discovery is still a place where anyone would want to be afterwards. 

He carefully rehearses a few different opening lines, then scraps them without a second thought in the turbolift. Nhan is busy ignoring Connolly, which is a shame because he likes to present a united front, but he also can't blame her. Chris would much rather have Spock for a multitude of reasons, and he's hoping that this mission will expose Connolly to a situation complex enough to make a point. Connolly is unfortunately sufficiently intelligent and capable that he thinks he's infallible without understanding the limits of his interpersonal style, which is probably going to earn him a chewing out by Nhan or Una at some point if he doesn't learn. Chris wonders if he should sell tickets.

Foregoing a speech, he sticks to the first thing that comes to mind upon materializing in Discovery's transporter room. Commander Saru seems rightfully baffled at his explanation, but there's no outright hostility. He's even more pleased to learn that the commander accompanying them is none other than Spock's sister; she's just as cool and collected as he might have expected, and clearly brilliant in her own right.

Chris is probably disproportionately amused at Connolly being sneezed on by the Saurian crew member sharing the lift with them.

********

Meeting Lieutenant Commander Stamets at his first senior staff meeting after being temporarily assigned as Discovery's captain is both informative and puzzling. He's probably verging on genius level, which together with his innovative and intuitive perspective on science as a whole would give him justifiable arrogance. Instead, he seems much more contained and subdued. Given that his personnel file includes comments from Academy instructors and superior officers alike regarding his confidence, Chris suspects that last is due to an unfinished grieving process coupled with extreme introversion. It tells him so much more about Paul Stamets the man, to have been in what by all accounts was a stable and loving relationship with so gentle and compassionate a person (Doctor Pollard's words, and she's not one whose opinion is to be taken lightly). Stamets' tight nod and near-imperceptible flinch when Chris very quietly offers his condolences during a shared turbolift ride supports that conclusion, and he wonders if anyone else has noticed. 

Actually, that's a disservice to Discovery; he's positive they've noticed, but he doesn't know if anyone has managed to successfully broach the topic of counseling. 

********

His first meeting with Doctor Culber is, put mildly, unexpected in the extreme. He's still wrapping his brain around the dynamics of the mycelial plane when he enters the spore drive bay at a fast walk, brought up short at the sight of Burnham and Tilly clinging to each other and sobbing in what can only be celebration. They look up at his arrival, and he barely manages to keep the surprise off his face when he takes in the whole scene. Beyond them, Stamets is laughing in a way that's completely at odds with the emotionally distant person Chris has known for the past few weeks. The man curled naked on the deck seems to be in shock, and it takes a moment to mentally superimpose his face on the smiling photo of Hugh Culber in his personnel file. 

They still aren't any closer to figuring out what the red signals mean, yet for all that Starfleet is about exploration and knowledge, it's the connections between people that matter most. There's a lot that he needs to deal with in ensuring that the ship is operational after their adventure, but he takes this moment to be Chris and not just Captain Pike. When he sees the way Stamets looks at Culber, he understands the depth of feeling that must have existed between them, and has to swallow back a few tears of his own at the sight of such unbounded happiness. 

_Sometimes,_ he thinks, _sometimes__ the universe makes right the wrongs._


	91. Say (His Name) / Suffer, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as a followup to Chapters 24 and 74 ("Suffer").

Tilly isn’t sure what to make of Stamets after... everything. His mind had still been trapped in the network when Doctor Culber died, but she had had two and a half days to try to come to terms with it before he regained awareness.

Of course most of that time had been spent furiously trying to devise a way back to their universe, trying to wake Stamets up to jump them home. Part of her - the part that curled under the covers, staring at the empty bed across the room and sobbing into her pillow - wondered if it might be kinder to simply let him go, to hope they might somehow be reunited in whatever lay beyond mortal life. She hadn’t known the doctor well, but she’d witnessed them together enough to understand that it was more than love alone that kept them together. 

_Respect, Sylvia._

Mutual respect, and letting the other be different without any sense of insecurity. She noticed how they complemented the other so well, even the friction she occasionally sensed either a well-rehearsed routine or more a matter of the war it seemed than any regular behavior. The multitude of tiny touches and body language, once she knew what to look for, were easy to spot.

...the doctor’s hand resting on the small of Stamets’ back, glimpsed just as the turbolift doors slid shut.

...so comfortable in their shared space, moving easily around the “traffic” in the crowded corridors between shifts.

...Stamets resting his cheek briefly on a white-clad shoulder, tucked away in his private lab.

They were so professional while on duty, barring brief exchanges of words that sounded like annoyance and petty bickering to the unobservant. Half of the engineering team hadn't even figured out why the CMO was constantly bothering him until that kiss Stamets planted on his partner before stepping into the spore chamber. Michael had confessed her own mistaken initial impression as well, assuming some sort of personal dislike that couldn’t have been farther from the truth,

Given their preference to protect their privacy when in view of others, she felt a bit voyeuristic when she did see things that spoke of the personal aspects of their relationship. Things like the day Stamets was limping around Engineering with a bruised tailbone from a supposed slip in the shower, or the spectacular love bites that covered his throat - on one particular occasion, also both wrists halfway up his forearms - on a frequent basis, visible when he unbuttoned his collar. Or how they kept making eye contact and quickly glancing away when Airiam was discussing the best way for the augmented ports to “allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body”. She’s pretty sure Doctor Culber’s sudden fit of coughing had something to do with distracting everyone from Stamets’ giggles, and she hadn’t been aware that he even _could_ giggle before that. 

Tilly felt an odd sort of privilege when they seemed to relax their restraint around her, signaled by nonchalantly holding hands at their shared breakfast table one morning, the same day Doctor Culber recruited her to help make sure Stamets consumed a bare minimum of calories on long days. That was followed by not saying a word out of the ordinary when she went to deliver a report and found them eating lunch in Stamets’ lab, sharing the same desk chair. Even more, she thinks about accidentally walking in on them in the cultivation bay. Although she’d been flustered at the time, seeing them making out behind the humidifying unit didn’t feel nearly as intrusive as stumbling across Stamets passed out in the far corner of the bay, the doctor snuggled up to him and both sound asleep. 

If they hadn’t urgently needed Stamets, she wonders if it would be cruel to wake him up to a reality where he’d found his partner’s dead body only minutes after he was killed. 

_He was **murdered,** Sylvia, and the murderer is technically dead too._

Tilly wasn’t supposed to know that, but she’d overheard Doctor Pollard talking to Saru and needed to take a break early to sit in the bathroom and cry her eyes out again. She thinks about finding him alone in their quarters when Doctor Pollard sent her to check on him, curled into a ball of anguished misery on the bed and looking so small and broken. How he let her stay and rub his shoulder as he sobbed into his partner's pillow, looking around the room and seeing so many things that suggested years upon years of memories built together.

_How could you ever recover from losing someone you loved that much?_

Stamets refused to talk about it at all once he was back in engineering, and nothing in the days leading up to the end of the war or their time on Earth for the armistice and medal ceremony. Tongue-tied wasn't usually a term anyone would use to describe her, but it’s how she felt until he told her his intention to leave. Seeing the pent-up emotion in his eyes when he spoke about the ship feeling haunted told her that he was suffering even more than she could have imagined.

After, once Pike assumes temporary command, she tries to breach the subject with subtlety. Stamets doesn’t seem to notice her sudden shift, not consciously, but he does start mentioning Doctor Culber’s name occasionally. There’s the day his eyes go distant over lunch when she asks what his favorite coffee drink is, telling her the story of how they first met in a cafe and he’d so thoroughly insulted the doctor’s taste in music that he’d left his comm frequency scrawled on a napkin tucked in Stamets’ briefcase. A week later, there's a late night waiting on the drive to finish another set of efficiency screens when one of the nurses stops by to check on Nilsson's sprained ankle, and Stamets goes so pale that she thinks he might faint when the white uniform passes the console they're working under. She has to pry his fingers off the spanner, letting him grip her hand instead even though it feels like her bones are being crushed. He releases her hand eventually, carrying on with the testing like nothing happened. It's not until she hands him another scanner that he quietly says how much he hated Doctor Culber leaving his boots lying around their quarters for him to trip over.

Mostly, there's the afternoon one of the technicians is playing music at his station and it shuffles through Kasseelian opera. Stamets is coming out of the cultivation bay as the aria starts up, and drops his kit before turning and walking quickly back inside. The hapless technician is confused until she and Nilsson explain, then he's properly mortified but can't apologize because Stamets has locked everyone out of the bay. Everyone except Tilly, apparently, who finds that her override works just fine. He's hiding behind a pile of specimen canisters, sitting completely motionless on the deck with his knees tucked up to his chest. There's a PADD balanced on his knees, and as she approaches she can hear Doctor Culber's voice in what has to be an old audio message.

_"...okay, sweetheart. I have to get back on shift, but I miss you so much, and I can't wait till Discovery is finished. I'm going to hold you so close, love, wrap my arms around you and we can spend all day in bed together. I want you so bad right now, want to kiss you and smell and taste you. _ _Can't wait to wake up with you every day, I_ _\- okay, I need to stop, but you get the picture. Two weeks, sweetheart, fourteen days...we can do this. Take care of yourself for me please? I love you, and I'll talk to you later." _

He doesn't seem surprised when she carefully sits down a polite distance away, just sighs and thumbs his PADD off.

"Sir-"

"Did you know, Hugh loved to sing in the shower? He couldn't hum and keep a tune, but somehow...his voice. It was so beautiful."

"Commander," she starts again, chewing her lip, "are you-"

"We spent so much time making sure no one here could ever accuse us of being unprofessional. So much time we could have just enjoyed together. He didn't care if anyone knew, but I- I couldn't. He did it for me. And now he's gone and I wasted so much time..."

She shifts uncomfortably on the dirt, unsure what she could possibly say that would be sufficient. 

"So much time apart. Always another posting, something to take him away. But it's different now, when I try to pretend that he's just on another assignment. Our first real home together, and I left him to sleep alone and I let him miss me because of that asshole Lorca and his fucking war, and because, because...I was so selfish, and he let me. Always let me, always understood. What am I supposed to do now, Tilly?" Stamets meets her eyes for the first time, "I didn't even kiss him goodbye that morning. We overslept and didn't, and now I won't ever be able to again."

“I ummm, I didn’t know that you and Doctor Cu-“

”Hugh.”

”Sir?”

”I...his name is Hugh.”

Tilly isn't sure what he's getting at. Surely he knows that she knew his first name, after all the times he told her to call him that off-duty. It never seemed right though, not when he had a title like Doctor.

”...yes? But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me-“

”Please, Tilly."

He swallows convulsively, a full-body shiver and she can almost see him forcing the emotions back down. She stares at him for a few seconds, mind whirring. 

The Command Training Program guide doesn't have anything in it about consoling grieving survivors, much less one's own supervisor after a senseless death. Michael's advice in all matters emotional is at best well-meaning but awkward, and she doesn't know Doctor Pollard well enough to ask what to do. TIlly's painfully aware of her talent in putting her foot in her mouth up to the knee, but if Stamets needs someone to talk to and - judging by her ability to enter when he locked everyone else out - trusts her, she can only repay the honor by being worthy of it.

_Focus, Sylvia. You can do this._

"Okay. Tell me about Do- tell me about Hugh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this partially to figure out why Tilly refers to Paul as “Commander Stamets” but uses Hugh’s first name in talking to May at the end of “Saints of Imperfection”. It's so clear that Paul never gets proper grief management, but if there was anyone he might talk to onboard, I think it would be her, particularly when Anthony Rapp mentioned in an interview that Tilly's become his safe space.


	92. Sleeve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippet expanded from these two sentences in the previous chapter: "Or how they kept making eye contact and quickly glancing away when Airiam was discussing the best way for the augmented ports to 'allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body'. She’s pretty sure Doctor Culber’s sudden fit of coughing had something to do with distracting everyone from Stamets’ giggles, and she hadn’t been aware that he even could giggle before that."

"-so it would make a better connection that way. What do you think, Doctor?"

Doctor Culber frowns at the schematic Airiam has up on the screen, zooming in on a portion and tapping a few commands into his own PADD.

"Good idea. It looks like what you're proposing would cut down on any potential latency issues and possible reduce the small amount of neural shock with every connection."

Across the console from them, Tilly is chewing the side of her fingernail and listening intently. While the augmentations Doctor Culber designed for Stamets' arms definitely reduced the trauma of using the spore drive (she doesn't ever want to see him bleeding like that on the floor of the cube ever again), with every jump there are always more refinements to be made. 

"Lieutenant, if I could see your arm?"

Sighing, Stamets unzips and tugs his sleeve out of the way, holding out his arm which Doctor Culber grasps firmly just above the augment.

"How long is this going to take?"

Off to the side, Tilly spots Doctor Culber roll his eyes, but is distracted by a purplish smear in the crease of Stamets' elbow. Frowning, she leans a little closer, wondering if it's just shadows or a trick of the light. It's an odd place to get a bruise, and she turns to the doctor to say something because she can't believe he would miss seeing it. Before she can open her mouth, he catches her eye and smiles cheerfully. 

_What?_

Airiam and Stamets are busy discussing something about thermal regulation and not paying attention at all. Puzzled, she takes another look and realization sets in, right as Doctor Culber very deliberately _winks_ at her. 

_Well then._

The elbow is definitely a new one, and she briefly wonders what they were doing to get it at that angle. 

_Nope, stop, do not pass go Sylvia. _

"Are you all right, Tilly?" Airiam's mechanized voice still manages to convey gentle concern.

"What? Oh, fine, it's just a little warm."

The doctor casually shifts his hold to hide the love bite, but she also sees the subtle caress he gives with his thumb underneath the bunched up sleeve.

"Right," Stamets is looking at her a little strangely, "let's get it over with."

"It's not going to hurt, Lieutenant."

Tilly wonders if Doctor Culber ever refers to Stamets by just his rank when they're not on duty.

_Focus, Sylvia._

The scanner whirs above the doctor's hands as he adjusts something inside the augment, Airiam humming thoughtfully when the device beeps.

"It looks like that's enough, Doctor."

Doctor Culber releases Stamets' arm, but keeps his hand out. 

"Other one."

"Your bedside manner is terrible. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Airiam probably thinks he sounds bored, and possibly quite rude to the CMO. One of the other cadets is passing by and stops to do a double take at the unveiled criticism and the way Doctor Culber pushes Stamets' shoulder to get him to turn, not waiting for him to offer the other arm. Neither he nor Airiam notice that Stamets' laser glare has no actual heat behind it, and Tilly smiles to herself as the doctor repeats the adjustments.

"Okay, should be done."

"We should do a dry run," Airiam suggests as Stamets is zipping his sleeves closed again, "to test the connections."

"How's your migraine, Lieutenant?"

"Fine, thank you Doctor. Airiam, do we need to do a full sequence, or just the interface points?"

"Well," Airiam's voice takes on a note of indecision, "it would probably best to make sure the system isn't going to cause a problem with the new adjustments."

Sighing, Stamets rolls his sleeves up again before stepping into the cube, Tilly and the doctor on his heels. Airiam steps behind the spore console and waits for him to settle into place, arms turned outwards and ready. He closes his eyes briefly as the ports on the augments open, shivering a bit when the connectors slot into place.

"Is everything okay, sir?"

Stamets squirms a little.

"Yeah, just...itchy? Something's a little different."

"That's just your nervous system picking up on it, it should settle down. But if it doesn't," Doctor Culber rummages in his medkit and pulls out a hypospray, "I can probably fix it."

"Is it going to be like this every time now?"

"Well, let's see if it goes-

"Oh!"

All three of them turn to look at Airiam, who returns to the cube excitedly.

"Whatever you did, Doctor, it looks like you've managed to adjust it properly to allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body."

There's a pause as Stamets and Culber glance towards each other, eyes darting away almost immediately.

"Err, right," Tilly tries to cover the awkward moment, "ummm, great job guys!". 

There's an inappropriate joke she would love to make if it was just her and Airiam, but that can't possibly be what-

On her left, Stamets makes a strangled noise that's somewhere between a suppressed sneeze and a squeak. Airiam's enhanced hearing must pick it up as well, because she tilts her head to the side in her version of a frown.

"Are you all right?"

"...fine."

"Are you sure? Doctor, does it look like he can maintain full depth like this, and how long will he be able to last?"

Doctor Culber, who had previously been studying his scanner results very closely, looks back up. As Tilly watches, he makes eye contact with Stamets whose lips twitch as if he's trying very hard not to laugh. 

"Perhaps we should pull out and try a new entry?” Airiam hasn't noticed, but Stamets' face is turning an alarming shade of pink. “Or if there's too much friction, we could add some lubrication?"

"Well," the doctor manages, voice higher in pitch than normal, "he might be a little tight, but I think he's got plenty of stamina."

Three things happen simultaneously - Tilly slaps a hand over her own mouth, Stamets lets out a high pitched noise that sounds an awful lot like a giggle, and Doctor Culber is suddenly overtaken by a dramatic coughing fit.

"Oh! Doctor, are you-"

From Airiam's perspective, it must look quite serious, but Tilly can see the doctor's face reflected in the cube wall and she's pretty sure he's laughing so hard it hurts. Stamets is giggling helplessly, head turned away from the three of them. Belatedly, she realizes that the connector arms are holding him essentially immobile and quickly taps a command into the controls. They withdraw with a hiss, and he stumbles forward, resting his forehead on the glass.

The coughing is trailing off when their eyes meet in the reflective wall and Stamets snorts, which sets the doctor off again. Airiam crouches down where he's bent over, watching his shoulders shake with alarm. 

"Doctor Culber, do you need me to comm the medbay?"

"No...I- hehh...I'm f-fine..."

She doesn't look convinced, so Tilly does the only thing she can think of: she tugs Airiam to her feet and pulls her out of the spore cube to leave them to laugh off the unintentional innuendo alone.

"Tilly?"

"I'll explain later." 


	93. Sweetness, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet, serious moment early on in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A follow on from Chapter 16 ("Sweetness").

"Mmmm, just relax, I'm going to make you feel so good..."

Hugh busies himself kissing and nipping his way down Paul's body, delighting in exploring the spots that make him shiver and moan. His skin is just as lovely and pale under his clothes as he's imagined, and it's too easy to lose himself tracing the spaces between ribs and nuzzling at the trail of hair leading downwards from his chest. They're sprawled over Paul's bed, clothing scattered across the floor in their haste to undress each other, and Hugh's mouth waters as he imagines what the bulge currently pressed up under his chin will look like once he peels off the last barrier between them.

He glances up from beneath his lashes, taking in the way Paul is already sweating, fingers fisting the sheets to either side of them as Hugh gently guides his hips off the bed long enough to remove his briefs.

"Oh sweetheart..."

There's a strangled gasp as he licks the tip, smearing sticky wetness over his lips. 

"You taste so good, babe."

Hugh carefully pins his wiggling bed partner down with a forearm across the hips and proceeds to map every straining inch with his tongue, grinning at the sound of bitten-off curses. He hums in satisfaction when Paul's fingers try to grip his short hair, but pauses when the breathless moans abruptly cut off and the hand falls away.

"Sorry."

"...for?"

"Ummm. Grabbing you."

Paul is even more attractive when he blushes, especially now that he can see the way it spreads from his throat down over his exposed chest.

_Oh._

He smiles, touched by Paul's consideration, but it's not necessary.

"Don't apologize. It's fine, I like it."

Hugh picks Paul's hand up off the sheets, directing it back to his head.

"Go ahead, just don't pull my hair out."

"Are you sure?"

Instead of responding with words, he relaxes his throat and goes all the way down.

"FUCK!"

"Mmmmhmmm."

While he's by no means an expert, Hugh's had enough partners to be comfortable in his technique and puts his best skills to work with the goal of driving Paul out of his mind. He's been by turns shy and exceedingly vocal in his appreciation, and Hugh can't wait to find out what he sounds like when all of his inhibitions are gone.

A couple of minutes later, Paul goes rigid beneath him. It's a bit faster than he'd been going for, but he suspects they'll both be ready to go more than once tonight. He moans in satisfaction and braces himself for what he hopes is going to be a spectacular climax, waiting to find out what Paul tastes like when he comes.

And waits. Paul's silent and still, and it doesn't seem to be in a good way.

"Ummm."

He lets Paul slide out of his mouth with an unintentionally obscene slurp.

"What is it sweetheart? Did I do something you didn't like?"

"No! I mean, no, I liked that."

"But?"

Paul's avoiding his eyes.

"You know you ummm, don't have to. You know."

He pushes himself up on an elbow, frowning in confusion.

"Don't have to what?"

"Don't have to pretend you like it. Sucking me off."

_What?_

This is totally not what Hugh was expecting. He drops a kiss on the tip before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and scooting back up the bed until he and Paul are face to face.

"Okay, you lost me. What gave you the idea I don't like it?"

The blush, previously so appealing, is starting to be worrisome.

"I mean, not- not you. But. Yeah. Just...uhhh, nevermind. I'm sorry."

Reaching down, he catches Paul's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I want to make you feel good."

Paul hides his face in the pillow and mumbles something that Hugh can't make out.

"Hey," he smooths his free hand over Paul's hair, "talk to me. What's wrong?"

"...like me."

He coaxes the pillow away from Paul's grasp, tipping his chin up with a gentle hand.

"Say that again?"

"I...you're...how are you even real? I- you, how could you possibly want someone like me?"

_Oh sweetheart._

Hugh has two thoughts simultaneously: one, he wants to kiss Paul until he understands just how sweet and desirable he is, and two, if he ever finds out who did such a number on Paul's self-esteem, he's going to very cheerfully rip them a new one. 

"Okay. First," he tugs their joined hands down to his crotch, pressing Paul's fingers against the damp spot on his own briefs, "I want you this badly. Second, I love giving head. When it's someone I really really like - that's you, in case you weren't clear - I get off so hard on giving pleasure that way. So there's nothing to be sorry for, except thinking that you're not exactly who and what I want."

"You really mean that?"

Paul looks like he's afraid to believe it, and that just won't do. Leaning forward the two inches between their faces, Hugh captures his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss.

"...yes. Yes, I do."

"I uhhh. Wow. Okay. Umm."

Another thought occurs to him, and he doesn't like it either.

"Is that why you keep trying to be quiet?"

"Well. Not really? Sort of? It's just...I know I'm loud."

"Mmmhmm. So?"

"I- this is going to sound dumb."

"I'm almost positive it isn't dumb if it's bothering you."

"I was with...someone," Paul addresses his collarbone, and Hugh mentally adds a world of hurt onto the nameless individual or individuals that are responsible, "and he said it sounded like I was faking it and it was a turn off. I liked it, but he uhhh, he...yeah."

Hugh isn't quite sure what to say to that, but he knows he needs to get the next part right.

"Hugh? Look, I shouldn't have- fuck, I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"

"You aren't. And I'm glad you told me."

"...you are?"

Sighing, he gathers Paul closer until their noses are touching, waits until he makes eye contact again.

"How about this? I promise that I'll always be honest with you. You can tell me anything, especially if you don't like something or want me to stop, and I will. But I don't want you to feel like you can't just enjoy yourself, because I want you in every way possible, just as you are."

"I don't deserve you."

"I like to think we deserve each other."

The kiss starts slow, but they're both breathless by the time they're done.

"Now," he murmurs, nuzzling at Paul's cheek, "do you want to keep going? Or we don't have to do anything, that's fine too."

"But you're-" Paul gestures down at where Hugh's nudging against his thigh.

"I have two perfectly good hands, and I'm also not so obsessed with my dick that I don't care about what you want."

He must have gotten the right mix of sarcasm and sincerity, because Paul ducks his head and smiles.

"Please. Can we- would you-"

"Anything you want, sweetheart."

"Let's try that again?"

"It would be my pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is definitely the kind of person that gets off on getting someone else off. In my headcanon, Paul is a bit shy when it comes to sex because he's had a difficult time finding guys who appreciate him and all of his quirks, and he's super self-conscious around Hugh at first. Let's just say I don't think Hugh let him feel that way for long.


	94. Subjective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffiest of sweet, loving fluff.

“You,” Hugh announces from the bathroom doorway, “are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Bemused, Paul looks up from his PADD. Hugh doesn’t seem to have any reason in particular for the declaration, nor does he appear to be expecting a response. Instead, he lounges against the doorframe, eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the same look that Paul sometimes wakes up to on their days off when neither of them sets an alarm, when he opens his eyes to find Hugh sharing the pillow and watching him with a gentle smile.

He’s only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, water still glistening on his chest and shoulders, and Paul lets his eyes work their way down his body and back up again.

”Did I miss something? I know it’s not our anniversary-” a quick glance down at the stardate on his PADD confirms he still has three months to come up with something, “so...”

Hugh’s smile deepens and he pushes off the wall, crossing to the bed. Paul’s lying on his stomach on top of the covers, propped up with his elbows, and he’s about to roll over when a hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades. 

_Stay_, the gesture says in the secret language that only they speak. 

He waits in silence as Hugh throws a knee over his legs, straddling his thighs. A moment later, he’s treated to the heat of Hugh’s torso against his back, fitting himself perfectly into the contours of Paul’s body. The arms circling his chest tighten, and he hums in contentment as a kiss is pressed behind his ear.

“Do I need a reason to tell you how horribly attractive you are, and how horribly in love with you I am?”

Hugh’s voice is playful, but there’s a quietness underlying his words. 

“I love you too, dear doctor,” he tugs the hand resting over his heart up enough to kiss the palm, “so no, but I’m just wondering what brought that on.”

Hugh pauses the trail of kisses he’s leaving from one shoulder to the other.

”Just seeing you here reading, all barefoot in your pajamas.”

”Nothing special,” Paul mumbles, “have you looked in a mirror lately?”

He can feel Hugh’s huff of laughter tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

”Love, I have to work on this body.”

”Probably not as much as you think you do.”

“This is deliberate. You though,” Hugh drops his chin to rest on Paul’s shoulder, “you don’t try to make yourself anything else than who you are.”

Odd as it sounds, he knows Hugh struggled with years of not liking the way he looked, knows the hours spent in the gym to create a body he likes inhabiting aren’t easy. Still...

”Approaching middle age, losing my hair, and looking nowhere near as good in my uniform as you do?”

Hugh nips the side of his neck in gentle reproach.

”You’re barely older than I am, I like your hair no matter how much of it you have, and there’s days I still have to hold a PADD in my lap during briefings because watching you unzip your collar and explain your science makes me want to rub myself all over you.”

Paul wiggles his hips in response to the last comment, stilling when Hugh doesn’t follow up on the invitation.

”Sometimes,” Hugh murmurs, “I still can’t believe it, how lucky I am that I get to wake up next to you. That you’re mine.”

He recognizes that sense of wonder, because he feels the same way in the quiet moments together, still can’t quite believe it either. Deflecting with humor is abandoned by the wayside, and he answers just as softly.

“Me too.”

They lapse back into silence, and Paul lets his body relax completely under Hugh’s weight. If they drift off like this, he trusts Hugh to move if he needs to breathe. His damp skin must be cooling, but he doesn’t move to get under the covers or pull on his own pajamas. Instead, he shifts from where his knees are bracketing Paul’s hips, tangles their legs together. 

Hugh is almost always in the mood to snuggle, but this feels different. Not in a bad way at all, just nudging at the tender hiding places in Paul’s heart where he keeps his love for this kind, compassionate, intelligent man who has stayed by his side for all of these years. 

His eyes fall closed, focusing on the way Hugh’s lips are caressing his neck. It’s a rare occurrence, but his mind goes perfectly blank, not worrying or thinking about anything except being wrapped in Hugh’s love. 

“Sweetheart?”

”...hmmm?”

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

”Prob’ly.”

”Okay. Just checking.”

”I c’n wake up.”

”Shhh,” he silences Paul’s protest as he rolls them onto their sides, kicking his towel off and nudging the PADD off the bed onto the nightstand.

“Hugh?”

“Go to sleep, love, I’ll be right here.”

“M’kay.”

”Computer, lights.”

He tugs the duvet up with his foot, pulling it over them both without breaking their embrace. 

“Love you.”

”I love you too. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Paul gives in to the pull of sleep, safe and warm and loved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sorrow Turns to Joy is taking a lot out of me, and I needed to write something purely about love.


	95. Synergy

People who don’t know better see opposites, two people so unlike each other that the thought of a relationship between them seems laughable.

Hugh Culber runs warm in body, mannerism, and voice. He’s confident and comfortable in his skin, quietly competent and calm. His smile is bright, and he does so easily and often, the center of a conversation. 

Paul Stamets is perpetually cold until he has a problem to solve, literally and figuratively rolling his sleeves up to tackle challenges. He’s ill at ease with strangers and strange situations, outspoken and direct. His defense is sarcasm, retreating behind cold criticism to hide his awkward tendencies, silent when he doesn’t have to speak.

Others don’t see the way they fit together. They don’t see how the self-assured and cheerful Hugh finds comfort in Paul’s quiet strength, seeking his embrace to feel safe and grounded. They don’t know that Paul is generous with his affection, smiles often and speaks gently when they’re alone.

They’re not the flip sides of a coin, just two pieces who could only fit together, not perfectly but with edges well-worn and smooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warm/cold dynamic came from seeing behind the scenes photos of the cast during filming of the finale - Anthony is in a heavy coat or sweater, even worn over Paul’s uniform between takes. I realize that it’s probably kept as cold as possible because of the heat of that many bodies and equipment, but that image really stuck with me.


	96. Seduction (Attempted)

_Swish_.

Hugh sags against the bulkhead, grateful to be home at last, before staggering over to a chair. Groaning, he bends to unzip his boots, tugging them off and kicking them under the table. Paul will complain in the morning, but he’s too tired to put them away.

Speaking of...

“Babe?”

The light is on by the bed, but there’s no response. It takes a moment to refocus his tired eyes that direction, and when he does he frowns. Paul’s side is empty, the covers disturbed but otherwise no sign of his partner. Hugh pauses with his jacket halfway unzipped, trying to remember if Paul said he was going to be working late.

_No, it was supposed to be an early night for both of us._

It would have been, except for a malfunctioning antigrav lift in the shuttlebay after he’d already worked a double shift that left Hugh and Tracy scrambling to call the rest of the medical staff back from dinner to treat the injured. The deck plates had taken most of the impact from the falling craft, but it had taken hours of surgery to repair a nasty shattered pelvis for one of the cadets who hadn’t gotten out of the way in time, and several others with less critical broken bones and concussions. He hadn’t thought to comm Paul in the middle of the chaos, too focused on triage and (sadly) too used to Paul being in the lab past 2300.

Hugh tosses his jacket and undershirt at the laundry pile, making his way slowly over to the bed, and wonders if his partner gave up waiting and went back to work. He hadn’t had any response to the quick message he’d sent on the way out, and he really hopes Paul isn’t too annoyed.

_Oh_. 

What he’d first taken for the usual tangled pile of covers he left on his side resolves into a Paul-shaped bundle of duvet. Hugh stops at the sight of him, fatigue pushed back by affection at seeing how tightly he’s wrapped around Hugh’s pillow, face buried in his discarded pajama top. The frown lines and clenched jaw he’s become all too familiar with seeing are relaxed in sleep, thick blond eyelashes casting the tiniest of shadows on his cheeks. 

Secure in the knowledge that Paul isn’t hiding in his lab in a fit of disappointment, Hugh shuffles into the bathroom and forces himself to brush his teeth properly despite how heavy his arms feel. He finishes undressing, takes the very briefest of showers (thirty seconds of sonic, because steam is going to put him to sleep), and pads back out intent on coaxing his pajamas out of Paul’s unconscious grip.

The smell of balsam catches his attention as he reaches for the garment, and he looks down at the bottle of massage oil and towel folded on the nightstand. Biting his lip, he peeks under the covers to confirm that yes, Paul is indeed fully naked and not just shirtless. Offering Hugh a relaxing massage wouldn’t require nudity, and it’s a clear sign that he was intending on turning the evening into sensual playtime.

_Damn_, he thinks with a growing sense of guilt,_ of all the nights for him to plan a seduction._

Hugh’s usually the one laying out wine and, frankly, himself to entice Paul home. This should have been a very welcome surprise, particularly when he was just complaining a few days ago that they hadn’t had time for a proper session between the sheets, hadn’t spent an hour taking each other apart in the most delicious ways in what felt like forever.

In the midst of his self-annoyance (although really, it’s not like the antigrav failure was anyone’s fault), Paul stirs, blinking slowly.

”Hugh?”

He sits down on the side of the bed, hand rubbing Paul’s bare shoulder.

”Hi sweetheart.”

”What time is it?”

”Past 0100. I’m so sorry love, I should have commed earlier-“

Paul cuts him off with a sleepy head shake.

”It’s-“ he’s interrupted by a yawn, “it’s okay.”

”I’m sorry I ruined your plans,” Hugh murmurs, inclining his head towards the nightstand.

”Well, if you want, give me a minute and-“

”As much as I want to, there’s no way I’d stay awake sweetheart.”

His rueful smile makes Paul sigh, and he bends to steal a kiss before continuing.

”Would have been quite something to come home to. I’m sorry.”

Paul’s looking up at him without any trace of disappointment. He pushes up on an elbow, scooting back over to his side and tugging Hugh’s wrist.

”Quit apologizing and get in here.”

His pajamas get dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and he climbs under the covers, settling into the sheets already warm from Paul’s body. A moment later, he has an armful of sleepy scientist, snuggled up to his side and making quiet noises of contentment.

“Sleep,” the order comes from somewhere around his collarbone, “you can make it up to me in the morning.”

Hugh shifts a little, tugging Paul’s knee up over his thigh and rubbing their feet together.

”Oh?”

“Yeah. Bring me coffee in bed and a blowjob for breakfast.”

The request startles a laugh out of him, and he kisses Paul’s forehead.

”I think I can manage that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I’d reverse roles, since it’s canon that Hugh has tried to entice Paul home more than once.


	97. Scene (or Seen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References Chapters 27-29 (“Shirtless” parts one and two, and “Scarlet”).

_Chirp_.

Tilly stares at the door panel, leg jiggling as she debates whether or not to try again or just leave it until the morning. 

On one hand, she thinks Stamets would like to know immediately that there was some sort of odd accelerated growth in the _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ in one specific three square meter patch. He’s also working beta this week, so he should still be awake. 

On the other hand, she remembers all too well what happened the last time she came to drop off a report after midnight. Thinking about Doctor Culber answering the door in just his underwear (_they’re called **briefs** for a reason, Sylvia_) makes her cheeks heat, and she shakes her head to clear it of the image.

_Swish_.

“Cadet! What brings you here-“ Doctor Culber’s gaze flicks over to the chrono on the door controls, “at 0200?”

“Ummm.”

He’s thankfully dressed this time, although seeing him without the uniform jacket and in a very rumpled and untucked sleeveless undershirt isn’t doing much to keep her from staring. His biceps look like they’re nearly the size of her head, flexing a little as he crosses his arms over his chest. The movement snaps her back to reality and the sight of the doctor leaning against the doorframe with an indulgent expression.

”Tilly?”

”...hmmm? Oh! Sorry, umm, sir. Doctor.”

”Hugh.”

”What?”

Doctor Culber’s smile grows.

”We’re off duty. You can use my first name, if you want.”

Tilly shifts her weight from one foot to the other, doing her best not to look past him into their quarters. The last thing she needs to see is Stamets without his shirt on again. Once was more than awkward enough.

”Ummm. Sure? I mean, okay?”

_He does smell nice._

_“_Tilly.”

She’s really not sure why he sounds so amused.

”Yeah. Yes. Uhh, is Lieutenant Stamets here? I know it’s his quarters too, but maybe he’s not home or something, and I really should have commed first, but...” she pauses to suck in a lungful of air before continuing, “-the uhhh _stella_\- err, there’s something weird and I wanted to tell him, but I was afraid of waking him up so I thought I’d come check.”

Doctor Culber glances over his shoulder.

”Babe? Your mushroom-minder is here.”

She blinks in surprise at the endearment. Stamets is a lot of things, but she can’t imagine how anyone would ever get away with calling him ‘babe’. Then again, the doctor does seem to break every pattern of interpersonal behavior that Stamets displays.

An indistinct set of syllables drifts their direction from the open bathroom door.

”He’ll be out in a minute. Do you want to come in?”

Tilly already feels like she’s intruding enough by interrupting them at home, and shakes her head. She’d like nothing more than to be in and out and done in the shortest amount of time possible, not least because she’s still a bit intimidated by Stamets’ grouchy mood.

Doctor Culber looks like he’s suppressing another grin, but she still has no idea why.

”Hugh? You know I can’t hear you when I’m brush- oh. Tilly?”

Stamets appears at the doctor’s shoulder, hair wet but fully dressed in ‘fleet issue pajamas. She’s struck by the sight of his bare feet and exposed throat, incongruous with the way she normally sees him on a daily basis. It makes her feel even more intrusive, even though nothing about his demeanor suggested annoyance. 

_At least there’s no visible bite marks._

”Lieutenant, sir...there’s in the- I mean, in the cultivation bay. I didn’t want to bother you, but there’s some _stella_\- that look bigger than the others. Lots bigger,” she rushes to explain, “like, fifty-three percent more than the ones around it.”

His gaze sharpens.

”Where in the bay?”

”Lateral grid seventy-delta. I checked and there’s nothing different about the lights in that section, and all the irrigation logs are normal.”

Stamets sighs, turning his head to look at Doctor Culber. He opens his mouth to say something, but the doctor beats him to it.

”You need to go check on your kids.”

”Sorry,” Stamets mutters, and Tilly doesn’t think she’s ever heard that tone of voice before.

”Well, I know you’re not going to bed if you think there’s something the matter with them.”

He nods, glancing back at Tilly.

”Let me get dressed and I’ll come down. Give me a minute.”

Neither of them seem like they’re about to kick her out, even as Stamets heads over to the closet. 

“I’ll just, ummmm...wait out here?”

She jerks a thumb back over her shoulder, stepping out of range of the door sensor. Doctor Culber looks like he’s going to say something, but the swish of the closing door cuts him off.

Tilly retreats to the opposite wall, leaning on the bulkhead and trying to look like she’s not standing outside the quarters of her superior officer waiting for him to change out of his pajamas. No one comes down the corridor, unsurprising for the time of night, but she still practices her best neutral expression. (_‘CTP protocol tip: A captain or chief must always be able to control their emotions and expression such that they do not unduly alarm, excite, or otherwise affect the performance of their crew, no matter the circumstances._’)

It doesn’t take long for the doors to open again. Stamets is in his uniform pants and blue undershirt, hand on the bulkhead as he foregoes his boots and steps into a pair of athletic shoes.

”I’ll be back in twenty,” she hears him tell Doctor Culber, “promise.”

His back is turned, and so he doesn’t see the way Tilly stares when he leans forward to kiss the doctor. It’s a brief peck, something that only the strictest protocol officer could really object to, but knowing they’re in a relationship and seeing evidence of it are very different things. It’s just so..._domestic_ a scene that is very much not in keeping with what anyone else in Engineering seems to think of him.

”Let’s go.”

She nods mutely, lets him take the lead as she frowns the whole way to the turbolift. 

“Something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing. Just thinking.”

”Oookay. Engineering,” he instructs the lift, still looking at her a bit oddly.

”Lateral seventy-delta, right?”

”Yes. To the left of the secondary irrigation table.”

”Hmmm. Could be a nutrient imbalance, but...”

He mutters to himself the rest of the way to Engineering, considering and discarding hypotheses without seeming to expect her to respond. It’s probably for the best, considering how much she’s trying to keep from blurting out something inappropriate that will end up embarrassing them both.

After all, Tilly’s pretty sure she saw Doctor Culber swat Stamets on the ass on his way out.


	98. Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s accompanying Hugh and Tracy to a medical conference. What starts off as Tracy teasing Hugh during dinner turns into a much more serious conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set relatively early in their relationship.

“Is he as fussy about sex as he seems?” Tracy asks, amused, watching as Paul frowns and adjusts his menu until the bottom is parallel with the table’s edge. “I can’t imagine him as anything but lights off. Does he have a protocol for you to follow?”

“Oh Trace, he’s _wild_ in bed. We-“

Tracy pinches his arm, groaning in mock disgust. Paul doesn’t notice the quiet conversation, too busy explaining to the server the exact characteristics for the wine they need to match their meal.

“I’m sorry I asked. Wait-” her eyes narrow as Hugh’s smile widens, “was that you two last night?”

They’re in an adjoining suite at the hotel hosting a conference on emergency medicine, and Tracy had spent half of breakfast that morning complaining about her neighbors having obnoxiously loud sex until 0200.

”Probably?”

He doesn’t even bother trying to sound contrite.

”No...” she eyes Paul again, now tasting whatever wine the server offered and peering at the bottle’s label, “no way. You can’t be serious.”

”Why not?”

”Hugh, he’s got to be the most fastidious guy you’ve ever dated. I mean, he didn’t even want to go swimming with us because he didn’t want to get his hair wet.”

”Ummm. About that...”

”What?”

”He’s pretty particular about his hair, but uhh, that’s not why.”

Paul’s tasting a second vintage, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of wine off his lower lip. He leans forward to accept the bottle, his unbuttoned jacket slipping down to reveal the vivid scarlet love bites painting his throat just below the edge of his collar. Hugh shifts a little in his seat, trying to surreptitiously spread his legs to make room in his previously comfortable uniform pants. Of course Tracy notices, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

”Aren’t you two a little old for that?”

”Are you looking at him? He’s...” Hugh pauses, taking in Tracy’s indulgent amusement, “the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

”Oh my god, you’ve got it bad for him, don’t you? You look like one of those twenty first century heart-eyes emojis.”

They’re interrupted by Paul excusing himself to the restroom, Hugh watching his retreating form with interest.

”Trace,” he sighs, “I think he’s it.”

”He’s what?”

Her smile loses its teasing edge at Hugh’s serious expression.

“I think he’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Yeah?”

”You can’t tell him I said that.”

”What? Hugh, when have you ever not told someone how you feel?”

Hugh plays with a loose thread on the napkin in his lap.

”Because he’s...different. Than anyone else ever was. He’s- I need to do this right.”

“Huh. Well then...I think I better make sure he knows what’ll happen if he hurts you.”

”Please don’t scare him, Trace.”

”Why would I do that? I’m just going to remind him that I know exactly how to surgically remove his balls one at a time without anesthesia.”

He chews his lip, looking down, and Tracy drops the half-serious attempt at levity.

”Okay. I won’t. But Hugh...just be careful, okay?”

Anyone else he would have laughed the concern off, but Tracy was around to help him pick up the pieces of his last relationship and knows exactly what it could do to him.

”I promise. But I don’t think you have to worry. He’s...like I said. He’s different. This is different.”

Tracy opens her mouth to say something in response, but Paul picks that moment to return to the table and she switches to commentary about tomorrow’s conference sessions. He sits back down, hand coming to rest over Hugh’s on his own knee. Hugh immediately turns his palm up, lacing their fingers together 

He doesn’t miss Tracy’s glance downwards at their hands, or the way she seems to be studying Paul over dinner with a quiet sort of purpose. Dinner is good, dessert is excellent, and they bid each other goodnight at the door to their suite.

The next morning, Paul watches perplexed as Tracy punches Hugh in the arm when he gives her a set of earplugs along with her cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that Hugh would have realized how deep his feelings for Paul ran very early on, but might have been hesitant to address them for fear of scaring a skittish Paul off. Tracy knows him too well to let him wiggle out of it. 
> 
> ...I also imagine them gossiping about their relationships over the years, and having candid discussions about all aspects, including sex.
> 
> I really do want to write a collection of stories from Hugh and Tracy’s days at Starfleet Medical, but I also really shouldn’t start yet another multi-chapter fic. Argh!


	99. Suite, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the previous chapter. Paul and Hugh are...enjoying themselves when they’re interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sexy times below. You have been warned ;)

“Oh fuck...”

Paul’s breathless gasp makes Hugh hum smugly against the sensitive skin under his lips. The resulting moan trails off into a series of whimpers when he uses the tip of his tongue to trace slow circles and long licks. It’s difficult to see Paul’s face - and that’s really the only drawback to performing this particular act in this particular position - but Hugh is well versed in reading his lover’s reactions in the pitch of his noises of pleasure. He glances up the length of Paul’s trembling thigh to where he’s clutching the back of his knee, fingers slipping on sweaty skin, and decides he’s probably teased enough.

Hugh wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, dropping a kiss to his inner thigh and briefly sucking the tip of the straining erection on his way past it. Paul’s hips jerk in reaction, his noise of protest turning into a sharp cry when Hugh detours to suckle each nipple, flicking them with his tongue. Smiling, he settles between Paul’s widespread knees, tugging the corner of the pillow he was using to rather unsuccessfully stifle his moans out from between his teeth.

He looks like every wet dream Hugh’s ever had, a vision of erotic delight with his flushed skin, cheeks pink with arousal and eyes glassy, hair in complete disarray from where Hugh had clutched it during the makeout session that started everything tonight. Seeing him like this and knowing that Hugh himself is responsible for giving him this level of pleasure...it’s a struggle to separate the possessive lust from the deep and profoundly tender awe at the vulnerability on display.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

He waits as Paul struggles to focus, blown pupils nearly eclipsing the clear blue around them. 

“...fuck me.”

”Oh we’re getting there, don’t worry, love.”

Paul groans and rolls his eyes, but it’s all for show and barely distracts from the way his bitten lips curve into an anticipatory smile.

”Your mouth should be considered an illegal substance.”

Hugh plants his elbows on either side of Paul’s head, lowering himself until they’re nose to nose.

”Why’s that?”

”So no one else will ever get to find out how fucking amazing it is. My ass refuses to share.”

Arousal steals some of Paul’s eloquence, but Hugh definitely accepts the compliment.

“What can I say, you make me so damn hungry, sweetheart,” he punctuates the sentence with a kiss, neither concerned with where his mouth has just been, “could just _eat_ you up.”

Paul lets go of his knees, reaching down to squeeze Hugh’s ass, grinding their hips together. 

”Mmmm. You’re so good at that. So good to me.”

“I-“ _kiss_ “love-“ _kiss_ “making you feel good.”

Paul tugs his bottom lip with his teeth, and Hugh feels himself starting to leak. He’d come once already, down Paul’s throat as they shared the oversized soaking tub in their suite, and going down to lick him open had been as much for Paul’s pleasure as it was to give Hugh a chance to recover. 

“I love you.”

He stills beneath Hugh, looking up at him with an expression that makes his chest grow tight. 

”I love you too. I’m so glad you’re here.”

They’ve made the most of the week-long conference so far, Paul working in the mornings and afternoons while the sessions are happening, then meeting up with Hugh and Tracy for dinner. He’s supposed to be on leave, but Hugh knows that’s really an impossible ask for someone obsessed with their research and is beyond grateful for the opportunity to spend this much time together. It’s usually past 2100 by the time they finish dessert (Tracy and Paul bonded over their love of sweets), so Hugh is getting by on about five hours of sleep a night to be able to stay awake with Paul as long as possible. They’re having plenty of extremely satisfying sex - there isn’t a flat surface they haven’t managed to use - but it’s the quiet cuddles and meandering conversations that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Hugh’s been in love before, but those memories are nothing in comparison to this.

The moment stretches between them, fading comfortably and switching back to lust between one blink and the next as Paul captures his mouth again. He’s squirming and running his toes up the backs of Hugh’s legs, clearly more than ready to proceed with the rest of their night. 

“Impatient.”

Paul tugs on Hugh’s lower lip with his teeth again, using a bit more force this time and humming in agreement.

“We have four months to make up for. I’ve been Hugh-deprived, dear doctor, and I think it’s adversely affecting my health.”

“Oh? Do you need me to prescribe something for that?”

He slips a hand between their bodies, caressing Paul’s chest before going lower.

”Mmmm... no, I think you need to- oh, yes- perform a thorough exam. Hands- fuck... hands on.”

Paul doesn’t have a serious medical kink - Hugh dated someone years ago who did and it was actually disturbing beyond belief - but the easy innuendos are too good to pass up.

”Hmmm...” the bedside table yields a bottle of lube (their second in three days), and he slicks up his fingers quickly, “that does seem like a good idea. Where does it hurt?”

”Oh, it’s really more of an ache. I’ve been feeling pretty...empty today. Like something’s missing.”

”Sounds serious,” Hugh licks his lips slowly, “care to show me what you’re talking about?”

Paul flashes him a wicked smile, pushing up on his chest until Hugh rolls off to the side. He guides his hand downwards, hooking his ankle over Hugh’s shin and spreading his legs wide. 

“Right about here.”

********  
Three fingers and a very generous amount of lube later, Paul is gripping the headboard and rolling his hips back to meet Hugh’s thrusts with increasing desperation.

”Fuck, sweetheart...” he pants, dropping his head to rest between Paul’s sweaty shoulder blades, “so good.”

”I- oh fuck! Right there, yes... you’re so good, more, please, Hugh, give me-“

_Chirp_.

The comm alert barely registers, as he’s too busy focusing on not coming with every clench and moan. He buries his fingers in Paul’s hair, tugging his head to the side for better access to his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. There’s already an impressive number of love bites scattered over both of their bodies, but the contrast against Paul’s pale skin is beautiful. 

_Chirp. Chirp._

The rhythm of Paul’s moans makes a wonderful counterpoint to the sound of the mattress groaning beneath them. Hugh shifts his hips just so, and the next thrust must be on target to that sweet spot because the resulting cry is even louder. 

“Gonna- fuck, getting close sweetheart-“

**_BUZZ-SCREECH_**.

He’s too well trained as a physician to ignore the priority alert tone. Swearing, he pushes a himself upright and leans over to retrieve his comm from the nightstand. Paul’s less than pleased with the interruption, grinding back against him in a way that’s making actually reading the message nearly impossible. When he does manage to make sense of the words on the screen, he groans and taps out a short response before snapping the device shut and tossing it off the bed onto the floor.

“Hugh?”

“Sorry love. Fucking...Tracy.”

Paul stills, letting go of the headboard with one hand and turning to look back over his shoulder up at Hugh.

”Ummm. Wha- why is- huh?”

“So you know how I gave her earplugs this morning?”

The apparent non sequitur is apparent in Paul’s frown, eyes still slightly vacant.

”Yeah? I thought it was some inside joke you guys have.”

Hugh’s torn between self-conscious laughter and chagrin.

”So. We uhh, we’re keeping her awake.”

”...what? There’s noise-dampening in hotels this nice,” Paul lets go with his other hand, collapsing onto the pile of pillows beneath his chest, “I checked.”

”There is. But-“ Hugh sighs, “it’s an adjoining suite. And we forgot to close the door on our side.”

Paul groans.

”Fuck.”

”Uhh huh.”

”Tell her sorry?”

”Did.”

He nods, then shoves the pillows out of the way and rolls over. They both sigh as Hugh slips free, but then Paul’s pulling him in with his ankles locked behind Hugh’s back.

“I should probably go close- ohhhhhh.”

Paul reaches down and guides him back in.

”Nope.”

”Uhh, don’t get me wrong I definitely want to finish. But Tracy’s going to kill us both if I don’t.”

Hugh lets Paul pull him down for a kiss, resting their foreheads together.

”Just let me up for a sec, babe.”

”Don’t need to.”

Paul grabs Hugh’s hand off the sheet, using it to cover his own mouth. Hugh swallows hard at the sight, something primal inside reacting to it. He can feel Paul licking his palm, which isn’t helping, but he does have a point and it will probably work enough that Tracy won’t put salt in his coffee in the morning.

”Ready?”

A nod.

Hugh grins and gets back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zomg 99 chapters! Let me know if you have any requests for #100. I have a few in drafts that need to be finished off :)


	100. Suite, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overuse of love bites. Because...actually, I don't have a good reason other than they're playful and possessive and it just seems to fit.

Hugh's never had a physical type, at least not as long as Tracy's known him. Tall, short, human, non-human, athletic...she's seen the range of the men he's dated, none of that seems to be consistent. Back in med school, he hadn't had time for a long-term steady relationship, although he'd certainly tried. They'd commiserated over their terrible luck, sharing a bottle of wine after Tracy finally kicked Joshua Ellis out for the last time.

********

_"I really thought he was going to be decent," Tracy groans, shoving a pile of left-behind clothes into the synthesizer and punching RECYCLE with more force than strictly necessary._

_Hugh snorts, nudging the stack of PADDS closer to the middle of the table so he can rest his bare feet on it. _

_"No one who calls you 'cutesy' is decent, Trace."_

_She slumps down on the couch next to him, reclaiming the bottle of wine and topping off her glass._

_"Yeah, well, I figured Command track would make him at least intelligent?"_

_"That's debatable," he rolls his eyes, "plenty of officers out there with no idea which end of a hypospray to hold."_

_"Ugh."_

_"Guys are awful, I keep telling you that. Self-centered and arrogant."_

_"...you're a guy too."_

_Tracy's attempt at pointing a finger is slightly askew, but she follows it up with an ineffective glare._

_"I also date them."_

_"Huh. Good point."_

********

The thing is, Tracy knows that he's a creature of monogamy, despite the thrill and apparent physical satisfaction with once-off lovers. 

********

_"Well?"_

_"Well what?"_

_The view on the screen shifts wildly, settling on Hugh sprawled over the couch._

_"Did you have fun?"_

_"Sure."_

_"So why are you so making that face? Was he awful?"  
_

_"...hmmm?" Hugh's eyes are far away for a moment, "Oh. No, not at all. Twice last night and once again this morning."_

_It's not a ringing endorsement when Hugh can't seem to keep a smile on his face._

_"Going to see him again this weekend?"_

_"Nah. No__t interesting enough. _ _He told me I was prettier if I kept my mouth shut, or stuffed full of his dick."_

_Her grimace is enough of a response, and Hugh sighs._

_"Exactly."_

********

Hugh gives everything where matters of the heart are concerned. The trouble is, Tracy hasn't yet seen someone who deserves that endless well of patience, affection, and generosity. 

********

_"What's wrong?"_

_Tracy sets down her PADD and looks up as Hugh drops into the chair on the other side of the table. They're at a conference on Alpha Centauri, but the bustle of the cafe recedes into the background as she takes in Hugh's slumped shoulders._

_"Noth-"_

_"Don't tell me nothing."_

_"M'tired, Trace."_

_"I thought you went to bed early?"_

_They're sharing a suite, and she's pretty sure he turned in before 2100 last night._

_Hugh summons up a smile for the server, ordering a café con leche. He waits until they leave before answering._

_"I did. I just- I dunno. I was thinking."_

_"Sounds dangerous."_

_He kicks her under the table, more out of form than any actual annoyance._

_"Just...yeah."_

_"I thought you were enjoying things?"_

_It's clearly not the conference, but Tracy is still feeling her way around the edges of whatever is weighing Hugh down and doesn't want to assume._

_"What? Oh, no, the sessions have been great. I love what I do, you know."_

_"Pot, kettle."_

_"But," he continues, ignoring her interjection, "I dunno. It's...some days, it doesn't feel like enough?"_

_"Enough for what?"_

_"I love medicine because I can help people, take care of them. Just-" he heaves a sigh, "I want to take care of someone who wants to take care of me too."_

Ahh. _That's exactly what she would have assumed._

_"Quit being so hard on yourself," she squeezes his wrist, "for all you know, the love of your life is sitting in this cafe right now, just waiting for you and your asopao."_

********

She won't realize until quite a while later just how prophetic her statement had been.

Hugh's had his heart trampled on more times than she'd care to remember, excitedly telling her about this cadet or that engineer he's headed out to a museum or concert with, only to shake his head and tell her it didn't work out a couple of months later.

So the next time he falls in love, Tracy's protective instincts come out full force.

********

_Tracy whistles when Hugh appears on screen. _ _She’s clearly interrupted him in the middle of finishing getting ready to go out: he’s gripping an uncapped liner pencil and his_ _ shirt is unbuttoned - it looks like the expensive Tholian silk blend they spent fifteen minutes bargaining for when they were at that Andorian outpost for medical relief._

_"Nice."_

_"Thanks," his response is distracted, "hoping he thinks so too."_

_"Who- oh, that's right, the mushroom guy."_

_Hugh levels a look at her from several light-years away._

_"His name is Paul."_

_"Sure. Want to give me his last name and comm frequency so I can arrange for a delivery of Martian stink-flowers when he ends up being an asshole?"_

_"Stamets. And he's different."_

_"Uh huh. You said that the last time."_

_"Really, Trace. He's nothing like him."_

_She's happy to see that Hugh's lost the bruised look in his eyes when talking about his ex._

_“If you say so. Don’t let me stop you,” she gestures at the pencil, "looks like you're almost done."_

_Hugh turns back to the mirror, drawing neat lines before artfully smudging them._

_“Have I mentioned how much I hate your eyelashes?”_

_"All the time."_

_”Must be special if you’re going to all this trouble.”_

_"I want this date to be good."_

_"How's he in bed?"_

_"We uhhh, we haven't. Had sex yet."_

_"What? Why?"_

_"I mean, he's stationed on Alpha Centauri and-"_

_"Haven't you seen him a few times in person though?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"But you're waiting because?"_

_"Trace, he's so fucking hot. But he's really sweet and said he wanted to take it slow, so...yeah."_

_"Hot, ehh?"_

_Hugh grins, ducking his head._

_"Most beautiful man I've ever met."_

_"...that's sooo descriptive, Hugh. I can picture him already."_

_Her sarcasm rolls off his good mood and lands on the floor in a spectacular fail._

_"Blond, about my height. Beautiful blue eyes, and _smart. _He's brilliant, Trace."_

_"Told me that part. Ad nauseum. Tell me about **him.** The parts that matter. Not," she hastens to add at the wicked gleam that appears in his eyes, "those parts. Although it sounds like you haven't seen those yet either."_

_"He's...he's shy. Like, to the point of people thinking he's an ass. Okay, sometimes he is, but he's not- not that way. But he's so honest, all the time. He's super interested in learning anything, he even listened to me going off about acute neuritis for half an hour last week. He has two PhDs but he wanted me to tell him all about it. Didn't complain, just asked questions, and actually read up on it so we could talk about it the next day. He folded my laundry when I had to take a comm in the middle of watching a holonovel. And you should have seen the look on his face when I sent him that rare spore specimen for his birthday. I just...yeah." _

_Maybe this one won't be so bad after all._

_"Sounds like your type. He going to hit the gym with you too?"_

_"Nah. He doesn't like that."_

_"Okay."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I want to know in case I have to set up an accident with the free weights."_

_"Trace..." _

_An alert chirps, interrupting their conversation._

_"I'll comm you in the morning to make sure Mr. Too Good To Be True doesn't turn out to be an Orion spy."_

_"Very funny."_

********

When she finally lays eyes on him - Hugh's stubbornly refused to send a photo, although he knew Tracy had already looked up his Starfleet file - Paul Stamets is nothing like she could have imagined.

********

_She’s just finishing breakfast when the alert goes off on her comm, reminding her to check in with Hugh. Setting down her fork, she picks up the PADD and considers sending a text instead, but her fingers have already hit the auto-connect._

_There's a sound like sheets rustling, a quiet curse, and then the video connects. _

_"Trace? Oh damn, I should have let you know..."_

_Hugh is...glowing. He hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt, hair messy with what’s probably yesterday’s gel, eyeliner almost completely smudged off, and there’s a series of obnoxiously large love bites marching down the side of his neck._

_”And good morning to you.”_

_Tracy fights down the urge to shake her head and laugh, because Hugh is so obviously post-coital. _

_”I take it you had a good night?”_

_"Yes."_

_Hugh glances down, affection and something deeper in his eyes. T_ _here's a sleepy murmur somewhere off to his right, and Tracy realizes that he's not alone in bed when Hugh shifts and tousled blond hair comes into frame. The owner of said hair pushes himself up on an elbow, mumbling something too low for the feed to pick up. _

_"Paul...this is Tracy."_

********

Dinner turns out to be more pleasant than she anticipated, but it's obvious that they're looking forward to being alone. Tracy bids them goodnight before closing the adjoining door firmly, relieved that at least tonight is going to be quiet. She can just see them out on their balcony, silhouetted against the purple sky and smiles, shaking her head as she gets ready for bed.

There's an indistinct murmur of voices when she turns out the lights, but it's probably just people passing in the hall. She sets her alarm, then spends a few minutes reading messages and checking tomorrow's agenda.

_Squeak_

Her eyes immediately dart over to the common wall, barely visible by the glow of her PADD. 

_Thud_

Tracy rolls her eyes, wondering which piece of furniture they tipped over. The sound dampening between their rooms ought to be fine tonight, now that they both have the doors closed. There's nothing else for several minutes, seemingly confirming her hope, and she turns off the PADD before settling back on the pillows.

The conference itself has been interesting, but getting to know Paul has much more of her attention. _"I think he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with,_" Hugh had said, _"I need to do this right"_. With that in mind, Tracy busied herself unobtrusively studying Paul over dinner, looking at him with a new eye and comparing it against the picture Hugh's painted. 

He's intelligent, brilliant even - she doesn't have to understand more than the basics of astromycology to realize that. He comes off confident to the point of arrogance, which would have rubbed her the wrong way at first if Hugh hadn't told her, recognizing it now as a fragile sort of brusque front to hide his sense of awkwardness with people he isn't familiar with. When engaged on his field, his gestures grew larger, moving cups and utensils on the table to demonstrate mycelial connections. The obvious passion for his research is on one hand a little worrisome (will he have enough attention for Hugh?) but mostly quietly checks off the mental list she has of **Characteristics of Hugh Culber's Ideal Partner**. 

Eventually, Paul had seemed to relax, especially as they discussed which dessert to order and ended up with an entire tray. Whenever he laughed at one of their stories from med school, it was open and honest, eyes crinkling at the corners and slightly crooked teeth showing. His gaze at Hugh was laced with more than a little lust (Tracy had hidden her smile behind the menu when Paul realized that his entire neck was showing), but he doesn't seem to be only interested in Hugh's well-maintained body. Building a relationship long-distance had its drawbacks, but it's clear that what are probably daily conversations have made them get to know each other in a way that they might not have in person. 

The way Hugh looks at him with softness in his eyes, tells her more than any explanation he could give. They were constantly gravitating towards each other throughout the meal, staying in contact with shoulders brushing or holding hands. Some of it could be attributed to a reunion after a long separation, but this feels like _more._

Well-

A very distinct moan interrupts her musings. 

_Oh hell. Not again._

Tracy's accidentally walked in on Hugh before when they were roommates their final year at Medical, so she (unfortunately) knows what he sounds like in bed, and that isn't it. Paul's got a fairly deep voice though, so maybe it wasn't him and her other neighbors are going at it? 

_Just my luck. I'm leaving a review about how terrible the advertised sound dampening in this hotel turned out to be._

And- nope, that's definitely Hugh. She pulls the pillow over her head, groaning, unsure if she should laugh or cry. While she thankfully can't make out individual words, the tone can't be mistaken for anything but sex. 

_I guess Hugh wasn't lying about him being a screamer._

The duvet tents over her makeshift pillow barricade, dulling some of the assorted moaning. It doesn't, however, hide the sound of furniture repeatedly hitting the common wall.

_You can ignore them. Just pretend you're back in the dorm._

Tracy starts mentally reviewing protocols in the 'fleet Medical emergency medicine guide. She's in the middle of listing off the contents of the Vulcan-specific medical kits, yawning, when the volume picks up again. 

_They must not have closed the door on their side._

Sighing, she snakes a hand out of her blanket bunker and retrieves her PADD. She's beginning to regret recycling the ear plugs Hugh gave her. While she could go sneak over and close the door, from what she's gathered about Paul he would be completely mortified if she caught them in the middle of something. Tracy's annoyed, but not to that point. Yet.

_Forty-five minutes and they're still at it? _

She gives in to temptation and sends a quick message to Hugh's comm.

_[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] Should I be worried about hangover effects from refractory inhibitors?_

She counts to fifty, long enough that Hugh could have at least glanced at his comm even if the "read and acknowledged" message doesn't show up on her end. Nothing. 

_[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] I didn't need to know what Paul sounds like when you...wait, is he this noisy no matter what you guys are doing?_

No response.

Tracy makes it through all the field surgery procedures and is in danger of suffocating under the covers when her need for sleep overrides how happy she is that Hugh seems to have found someone compatible in _every _way. Kicking down the duvet, she types a short message and selects the medical priority alert.

_[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] I love you like a brother, but I swear I'm going to kill you both slowly if you don't either close the damn door or at least have sex below 70 decibels. Very slowly. They'll never find the bodies. Or could you at least give me twenty minutes to fall asleep before you start screwing each other senseless again?_

Silence.

** _>>Message acknowledged_ **

That's enough for her. Tracy doesn't bother checking to see if Hugh replies, just sets the PADD down and closes her eyes. She's so going to give him hell for this in the morning.

********

At 0700, Tracy opens the old-fashioned communicating door on her side of the suite only as far as necessary, mindful of the fact that the other side is probably still ajar. 

"Are you two decent?" she calls around the door.

Nothing.

Tracy frowns. She peeks around the door, unsure of what she might find. She'd have expected to either have a response from one of them or the sound of covers being hastily tossed back and the rustle of clothes being pulled on. Instead, there's only the quiet hiss of the hotel's air circulators. She's been up for an hour already, and surely she would have heard them leaving for breakfast without her?

"I'm coming in."

Counting to twenty, she slowly edges into the other room.

_Oh Hugh._

They're indecent, but not in the way she expected. Shaking her head, she smiles even though neither of them will see it, head tilted to the side and considering the scene in front of her.

They're both still sound asleep, probably wore each other out the night before by the looks (and sound) of things. The duvet and top sheet are crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed, clothes strewn across the carpet in a path from the couch, and the remaining bottom sheet shows every sign of having been pulled off the mattress at the sides, lacking the crisp folds and neatly tucked in edges. Its two occupants are lying across the width of the bed, sharing a single pillow that seemed to have survived whatever activity knocked the others onto the floor. Paul is on his back, blond hair in complete disarray, visible love bites on his stomach and thighs. Snuggled against his side and partly on top of him, Hugh's head is pillowed on Paul's shoulder, arm thrown across his waist above where their legs are tangled. His forehead is resting against Paul's cheek, and neither of them have a stitch of clothing on. 

As she watches, Paul stirs. Instead of moving further away or being disturbed by the substantial weight on his chest, his arm curls tighter around Hugh's shoulders in a way that suggests protectiveness. The motion rouses Hugh enough to raise his hand until it's resting below Paul’s collarbone, fingers splayed open. He sighs, burying his face in Paul's shoulder before they both fall still again.

Tracy feels like she's intruding, even though she knows Hugh won't be bothered. Their nudity seems vulnerable, Hugh's broad shoulders curved inwards towards Paul as if sheltering and his back fully exposed. The intimacy of the body language, all sexual connotations aside, is nearly obscene in its honesty. 

_So much for breakfast._

The environmental controls are set at a comfortable temperature, but it's probably cold without the covers. Tracy carefully spreads the duvet back over them, trying not to disturb the pair. She'll just leave a message for Hugh and maybe send a tray up for them...

The fabric must tickle, because Hugh frowns and slowly opens his eyes, nuzzling at Paul’s neck. Before he’s aware that she’s there, the expression on his face when he looks at Paul conveys contentment and wonder, and what can only be described as love. She's just about to back away slowly when he stiffens, head turning towards her. He relaxes again almost immediately, although she doesn't miss the way his eyes dart over as if to check that Paul's still asleep. Tracy shakes her head in fond indulgence, jerking a thumb back towards the door behind her. The smile he gives is partly apologetic, but mostly happiness, and his eyes slowly fall shut again. 

_Well damn,_ Tracy muses, _ I don't think Hugh has to worry about doing things right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, Chapter 100! I wanted to do this right, and hope it's successful.
> 
> I've been super stressed lately, and it's making it more difficult to concentrate on writing regularly, so thank you to everyone for staying with me along the way :) Many more Culmets stories to come.
> 
> Re: Hugh and eyeliner - Wilson posted a photo with Sonequa Martin-Green where they're both wearing a smoky eye, and it's *gorgeous* on them.


	101. Suite, Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tongue-in-cheek peek at Tracy's list of characteristics for Hugh's ideal partner, as referenced in the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initials are the exes Tracy's adding up :P

**>> Access files**

**>> Authorization required**

_Pollard-eight-five-delta-four-one-one_

**>> Access granted**

**>> Open file: ** **Characteristics of Hugh Culber's Ideal Partner**

  * Male (or analogous in other species?)
  * Body type 
    * <strike>Athletic</strike>
    * Big hands
    * <strike>Tall</strike> <strike>shorter than him </strike> height unimportant
  * Hair color: 
    * <strike>dark blond </strike>
    * <strike>dark </strike>
    * <strike>none </strike>
    * <strike>blue</strike>
    * unimportant

Past dates

  * (Kasseelian) opera --> _mostly platonic friends_
  * 20th century Earth abstract impressionism --> _museums okay, must remind Hugh about the Metropolitan Museum exhibits_
  * Running / working out--> _also platonic activity_
  * Hiking
  * Dancing / dance lessons 

Ideal partner would be:

  * **Competent**
  * <strike>Intelligent</strike> common sense
  * Kind, **compassionate**
  * <strike>Quirky</strike> non-conforming to expectations
  * <strike>Scientist</strike> interested in listening to Hugh talk about medicine
  * Well-traveled
  * Generous
  * Romantic
  * Speaks Spanish?
  * Likes sex **a lot**

Common traits of his exes to watch for

  * Too charming and smooth (V.B., N.S., T-R.L.)
  * Shallow / physical only (T-R.L.)
  * Overconfidence (V.B., N.S., E.R., F.A.)
  * <strike>Engineers</strike>
  * Pilots (T-R.L, F.A.)
  * Command track (V.B., N.S.)
  * Only talk, don't listen (E.R., F.A.)
  * Need fixing (V.B., N.S., E.R., T-R.L., F.A.)

**>> Update file?**

_Close and archive_

**>> File archived**


	102. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What other people see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Chapter 31 of When Sorrow Turns To Joy, Rhys references conversations with Detmer and Owo about Paul and Hugh. This is one of them.
> 
> Tilly’s story is from Chapter 29 of this story (“Scarlet”).

Detmer and Owo have their heads together, laughing about something when Rhys finally makes it into Lounge H. Game Night was technically cancelled - Tilly had been ordered to bed by both Doctor Culber _and_ Doctor Pollard, Bryce is comming his parents, and Michael and Airiam are working gamma. (More specifically, Doctor Culber had sent Tilly to her quarters to rest when Burnham dragged her in with a fever that morning, and Doctor Pollard had been waiting by her biobed this afternoon when she woke up in the medbay after fainting at her station.)

They look up as the doors swish close, and Detmer immediately beckons him over

”Gen! You won’t believe what Tilly told me!”

“Was this before or after she face planted on Stamets?”

He accepts the chair Owo nudges towards him with her foot, dropping into it with a sigh and unzipping his uniform jacket.

”Oh, this was yester- no, the day before that.”

”Oh really?” Rhys snags the bowl of pretzels off Detmer’s lap, “is this about Cadet Needs To Have His Face Smashed In?”

”No, although I heard he told Nilsson she was too pretty to be an engineer.”

Owo’s grinning, so it can’t have been too bad. He really wants to know what the two of them found so amusing, but Rhys lets himself get sidetracked. The cadet in question deserved to be sent out in EV in his underwear anyway, some Council member’s spoiled son who barely passed his courses but ended up on Discovery anyway. 

Rhys has a few theories about that.

”And he survived?”

”I’m sure he wishes he hadn’t,” Detmer steals the pretzels back, commencing a brief tug of war that showers their legs in crumbs and loose salt, “but Nilsson didn’t have to do anything.”

”That’s not completely true.”

”Close enough, Jo.”

”Anyway,” Owo continues, “Commander Landry was in the lab, when he kept bothering Nilsson after she told him to leave.”

Rhys whistles in interest. The security chief is by all accounts a career soldier, tough but fair, and with a reputation for no patience with unprofessional behavior.

”Oh man, what did she do to him?”

”Gave him a dressing down that should have blistered. Reminded him that the Academy oath covers respect and unassailable character, and if he didn’t have either, he ought to go back home.”

”Hah!”

”Exactly.”

Detmer holds up her glass, clinking it with Owo’s, and rolling her eyes when Rhys uses the pretzel bowl.

“So what were you two talking about when I got here?”

Owo and Detmer share a look, snickering helplessly.

”Really?”

”Oh, really.”

”You want to tell him Jo, or should I?”

”Go ahead.”

Rhys waits while the laughter dies down, going to the synthesizer for tea in the meantime. When he gets back, Detmer seems ready to explain.

”So a couple days ago, one of the relays blew in Engineering. Blew up in Stamets’ face apparently, I mean not close enough to hurt him really, but Tilly freaked out.”

”I would have too,” Owo interjects, “remember that lecture we had on plasma burns?”

”Stamets is fine, but he fell over and Tilly went to check on him. I guess he got a few sparks, but nothing bad. He opens his collar to check his neck, and...” she snorts, flapping her hand at Owo, who picks up the thread of the story.

”Stamets’ neck is covered in-“

Rhys blinks in suspense when Owo makes eye contact with Detmer and they dissolve into giggles.

”In what?”

”-in...heh heh...hi- he’s got a giant hickey with-“ Detmer wipes at her eyes, “with teeth marks!”

The punchline seems a bit anticlimactic.

”Oh.”

”Oh? Come on Gen, can you imagine? Stamets!”

”So?”

”So, it means Doctor C was _biting_ his neck. Tilly about died when she told me, she sounded like when you catch your parents going at it.”

”Ewww, gross. Thanks for the visual.”

”Sorry Jo.”

Rhys is honestly a little disappointed.

“So...Stamets has a hickey? That’s all?”

“He’s sooo uptight though! Like who gives hickeys anymore anyway? That’s total Academy dorm stuff.”

He’s going to have to burst their bubble. It’s not technically private information after all, and he’s pretty sure he won’t get hell for saying it.

”Uhhh, I spar with Hugh.”

“And?”

”Well we’re not doing it in uniform.”

Owo and Detmer give him identical blank looks.

“So?”

“What’s that got to do with...?”

”Stamets bites too, apparently.”

There’s a moment of silence as they process what he just said. Then-

“Oh. My. God. Are you serious?”

“Yeah?”

”Haven’t they been together like, forever?”

“Keyla thinks married people stop having sex.”

”I do not! Just...”

”They’re not married,” he feels impelled to point out, “but I’m pretty sure Stamets actually gets laid more than we do.”

”Okay, that’s sort of depressing.”

He shrugs, because she’s not wrong.

”I think it’s sweet,” Owo smiles, picking up her glass again, “that they still like each other that much.”

”You mean love?”

”No, like. My Aunt Ekemma told me it’s easy to love someone, your parents or your friends or your partner. But to like them, that takes work, because it means you really know each other and still choose them.”

Detmer’s confused expression fades at Owo’s explanation.

”Huh. That’s...I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

”Stamets isn’t always an ass either,” Rhys adds, “at least not when he’s off duty with Hugh.”

“Tilly said she found them asleep in the cultivation bay a couple weeks ago.”

”Asleep?”

”Clothes on,” Detmer sounds a little disappointed that it’s not scandalous. “She said they were cuddling. I thought she was exaggerating.”

”Probably not.”

”Huh.”

Silence falls again, Detmer frowning a little. He tends to forget that neither of them really know Hugh outside his role as CMO, and by extension that means he doesn’t think Stamets is quite as tight laced as most everyone else on the ship probably does. 

Rhys gets refills on everyone’s drinks and a plate of cookies that they share without comment. He’s starting to slouch a little in his chair and is thinking about calling it a night when Owo speaks.

”You know what I want?”

She’s gone more serious and thoughtful still, and Rhys has no idea what she’s about to say.

“What?”

“I want someone to look at me, the way Stamets and Doctor Culber look at each other.”

Detmer’s lost the frown, smiling wistfully.

“Me too.”

It’s Keyla and Joann, so there’s no point in not being honest.

”Me three.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected to be writing from Rhys’ perspective - it’s a bit of a challenge to narrate differently than I would as Paul or Hugh or Tracy, but I’m enjoying it.


	103. Seduction (Successful)

Paul is halfway through drafting a paragraph arguing that entropy is suspended where the laws of physics aren't a universal constant (like the mycelial network) when his PADD is abruptly plucked from his hands.

"Wha-"

The empty space in front of him is replaced with a lapful of Hugh instead.

"Hi."

Blinking to refocus, he opens his mouth to start an indignant protest, but Hugh beats him to it.

"You've been squinting at that for two hours, you're going to give yourself eye strain."

Hugh knows the effect Doctor Culber's reasonable voice has on Paul, and is clearly using that fact to his advantage as he gives him an expectant stare until Paul deflates.

"Fine," he grumbles, "but I was in the middle of-"

"It can wait."

Hugh unzips his jacket the rest of the way, waiting for Paul to shrug it off. Then Hugh's hands land on his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense muscles through the thin fabric of his undershirt. He shakes his head a little when Paul sighs and relaxes into his grip.

"You're working yourself into knots, babe." 

"Lucky I have you to make them go away?"

Paul tries deploying a pout for sympathy, but Hugh is immune. 

"Yes."

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the cushions, rolling the strain from his neck as his partner continues to work his magic. Hugh's weight on his lap is comfortable, grounding him in the moment, in this reality, and not letting his mind drift back towards the siren call of the network. When he opens his eyes again, he's struck with something he should have noticed before.

"Where's your shirt?"

"Where you usually put it on the bed."

"Oh."

He keeps up the massage, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Hugh Culber is the one person in the universe with the ability to (inadvertently) make Paul feel like he's five steps behind, and he has no idea what he's missing that has him amused. 

"What?"

"Hmm?"

"You're smirking."

"Am I?"

His tone is infuriatingly calm. Paul narrows his eyes, trying to think past the urge to simply melt into Hugh's touch. It's a difficult battle.

"Yes."

Paul raises his hands off the cushions automatically to steady him as Hugh shifts his weight over his thighs. His fingers land on warm skin at Hugh's hips, and Hugh's smile widens at the look of confusion.

"Where-"

Oh.

Well.

"You're wearing_...that_ underwear."

"Yes."

His body is a sculpted work of art that Paul appreciates on a regular basis, but there's a difference between nudity in the shower and the invitation to play now literally sitting on his lap. The black silk briefs lovingly cling to every detail, hugging the skin below his V-line. Hugh's clearly gotten a head start without him, judging by the already damp fabric straining to contain a prominent indication of interest. 

"Wow."

"Mmhmm."

The muscles under his hands tighten as Hugh flexes unashamedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. They don't have sex every day, but it suddenly feels like it's been weeks. 

"Are you-" he stops to swallow, voice catching in a throat gone dry, "are you feeling neglected?"

Hugh's hands loosen on his shoulders, slipping down to rest on Paul's chest. 

"A little."

A thumb starts to rub circles, closer and closer to where Paul can feel his nipples already drawn up hard, intensely aware of the slide of his shirt over them with every breath. He can't look away from the hypnotic dark amber of Hugh's eyes, the affection and desire in them holding him captive even as he uses the side of his nail to gently tease over the sensitive nub, flicking it back and forth.

"Can I- oh fuck..."

Hugh leans forward the rest of the way for an open-mouthed kiss, and proceeds to make every higher thought flee as he pairs it with a sharp pinch.

”Yes, you can,” he murmurs into Paul’s mouth when they break for air.

”...you...you don’t eve- fuck. Don’t even know what I was going to say.”

He’s left cold as Hugh slides off his lap, making sure to grind his ass down in the process. Before he can protest, he's being pulled to his feet.

“Why don’t you come show me?”

Hugh turns and proceeds to walk towards the bed. Slowly. The view from the back is almost as delicious as the front, and has the added bonus of giving Paul the ten seconds he needs to strip off the rest of his clothes before he follows.

”Coming?”

”Oh, yes.”


	104. Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Discovery

Shore leave together is...perfect.

Sure, it’s only four days, but it’s four days spent tucked together in a cozy cabin up in the mountains. The resort has a rustic, old-fashioned theme, walls covered with rough hewn wood paneling and a fireplace in the living room. They’d arrived yesterday evening after dark and hadn’t much appreciated the view, but now Hugh sees the evergreen trees surrounding them, everything quiet under a thick blanket of snow that they might make it outside to walk in tomorrow.

So far, they’ve spent most of their first full day in bed together. Hugh had woken first, content to simply watch his lover sleep. Paul was in the middle of the mattress, crowding Hugh in against the wall, but he didn’t really mind. Between the fluffy duvet and Paul’s arms, he’d opened his eyes to warmth and an overwhelming sense of peace. Of course Paul had taken that moment to start snoring in his ear, and Hugh had laughed softly before gently rolling him onto his back to stop the noise.

The innate need for activity finally forced him from the bed around 0800, and he’d taken the time to go downstairs and make breakfast. Technically, he’d had the synthesizer pre-scramble the eggs while he brewed drip coffee and made french toast, but he’d known Paul wouldn’t mind. He’d just finished preparing a tray when the creak of wood reached his ears, looked up to find Paul slowly climbing down from the loft, still yawning and adorably rumpled.

Instead of breakfast in bed, they’d eaten together on the worn leather couch in front of the fireplace, comfortable silence between them. Paul had insisted on giving Hugh a thorough thank you kiss, which devolved into licking the remains of the syrup from his lips, and ended up sucking Hugh off right there. Despite their months-long separation, it hadn’t been rushed as Paul slowly worked Hugh up until he spilled into his mouth with a quiet groan. The flames in the fireplace had painted his hair in shades of sunset gold and rust as he knelt between his legs, lips reddened and eyes a brilliant blue. Once the shivers subsided, Hugh had borne him down onto the thick carpet and proceeded to return the favor with the same leisurely enjoyment.

After, wiping sweat and Paul off his lips, they’d finally done the dishes and dressed to go out. _Planned_ to go out, because they hadn’t quite made it to the door, the lingering flush on Paul’s cheeks too much of a temptation to resist. 

It took far less time to undress than putting their clothes on to begin with, his partner in a rare assertive mood that only made things that much more exciting. Once round two had concluded with Paul sprawled sweaty across Hugh’s back, bent over the arm of the couch, going outside had seemed unappealing in comparison to sharing the oversized soaking tub in the bathroom. They’d retreated to the bed once the water cooled, snuggling and exchanging the kind of soft kisses that Hugh loved even more than the hungry, open-mouthed ones at the height of passion.

Eventually, their stomachs demanded lunch, and Paul had carried it upstairs to eat in bed. Hugh knows they fell asleep again at some point, the exertion of the morning and good food too much to ignore. It’s dark outside now, probably near 1800 based on his internal chronometer, and he’s a little disappointed to wake up alone.

”Babe?”

”Down here,” Paul’s voice drifts up from below, carrying over the loft railing.

The environmental controls have been set to a level that’s a little chilly, despite the fact that the modern construction means none of the cold and wind from outside technically makes it in _(“What’s the point of a fireplace if we’re not cold?” Hugh had pointed out). _ He pulls on a pair of thick flannel pajama pants, but his favorite sweater is nowhere to be found. Hugh knows he packed it, but it’s not at the bottom of his suitcase with his other shirts. Frowning, he chooses a long sleeved thermal undershirt instead, satisfying his need for more cuddling taking priority over anything else.

Whatever he’s about to say dies on his lips when he makes it to the bottom of the stairs. Paul is curled up in a corner of the couch reading. It can’t be work, because Hugh had confiscated his Starfleet-issue PADD on arrival, but that’s not what stops him in his tracks. 

Paul’s legs are bare, skin pinkened with chill under the dusting of near-invisible hair. It looks like he’s wearing underwear, although it’s difficult to tell with his legs folded up like that. More to the point-

“...is that my sweater?”

It’s a rhetorical question. They do share clothes (being the same height is a distinct advantage as far as he’s concerned) often when together, but there’s something primal about seeing Paul like this, something deeply possessive and wanting at the sight of him with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and a PADD in his hands.

That possessiveness settles into a warm knot inside when Paul looks up and smiles. 

“Yes, it is,” he shrugs a little self-consciously, “I...it smells like you.”

”It looks good on you, sweetheart,” Hugh murmurs, waiting for Paul to set the PADD aside with his glasses folded on top (Hugh keeps pestering him to just get a surgical correction). 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Let me see?”

Paul stands, and the banked heat flares back to life in his groin. The deep maroon fabric hangs loose at the neckline and tighter around the midsection, the garment made for Hugh’s bulkier shoulders and trim waist. He stops in front of Hugh, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and stealing a kiss that Hugh is only too happy to return.

”I love you.”

”I love you too, sweetheart.”

His hands roam Paul’s torso, tracing the hint of freckles visible under the collar and caressing his chest. He’s gorgeous, standing there in his briefs and Hugh’s sweater. The heat sharpens into need.

_And he’s mine._

“What’s that look?”

Paul’s playful smile means he already knows the answer, Hugh’s desire reflected back on his face as he slips a knee between Hugh’s thighs and presses their hips together.

”That’s the ‘I haven’t fucked my partner in three and a half months, and I’m going to tear my clothes off him and do it’ look.”

Despite the crude words, his voice is soft, and Paul’s laugh makes his body sing.

”Is it now?”

Instead of answering out loud, Hugh takes his hand and pulls Paul back up the stairs to the bed. He peels the sweater off as promised, lavishing kisses everywhere and rubbing his face against the softness of Paul’s stomach until he hauls Hugh back up to finish shedding his own clothes.

They make love amidst the tangled sheets, moving together slowly, every touch made more intimate by shared history. There’s no need to hurry in this place, sheltered from the universe outside. It’s just the two of them as Hugh works him open with fingers and tongue, Paul’s heels drumming on his shoulders as he licks and sucks.

He rests their foreheads together when he finally pushes inside, hitches the legs wrapped around his waist a little higher, waits for Paul to catch his breath and open his eyes again. It’s the sweetest torment, and he suffers gladly.

“Please...I need.”

It’s breathed out into the charged air between them, and that just won’t do. Paul shouldn’t have to beg, shouldn’t ever be denied anything that’s in Hugh’s power to give.

He starts to move.

The first thrust leaves them both gasping at the sensation, Hugh unable to look away even as he buries himself in that slick heat over and over again. He cradles Paul’s head in his hands, elbows braced on the sheets as his lover writhes and pushes their bodies closer, chasing him every time he pulls away and using his crossed ankles on Hugh’s back to urge him forward again.

Paul’s never quiet in bed, but today his moans are muffled against Hugh’s lips, whimpers soothed with kisses. His hands slide in the sweat covering Hugh’s skin, anchoring themselves over his shoulders when the fingers buried in his hair tighten. Their rocking stays slow and steady, every motion rubbing Hugh’s stomach over Paul’s aching erection. 

It can’t last forever.

”...m’close,” Hugh admits, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he struggles against the overwhelming need, “don’t- oh sweetheart...don’t think...can last much longer.”

Nodding, Paul detaches a hand, slips it between their bodies and brings himself closer to the edge.

”Go ahead. Give- fuck...give it to me, I want it...please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. Hugh’s eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, fly wide open and unfocused. They’ve already had two orgasms each today, so instead of a sharp release it’s a wave that breaks over his body, rolling and pulsing with every jerk of his hips. Beneath him, Paul’s watching him with desire and love written on his face, moving and grinding together to keep the pleasure aloft as long as possible even as his own strokes grow faster.

The feeling of Paul coming around him, head thrown back and back bowing up off the sheets, is almost too intense. He clenches his jaw, riding out Paul’s climax, his breathless moans the sweetest sound.

Eventually, they’re both too sensitive and he has to pull out, his sigh echoed by Paul as he slips free. Hugh rolls heavily onto his back at Paul’s side. They should grab a towel so they don’t make a mess of the bed, but neither are in a hurry to move again.

”Mmmm.” 

”Hmmm?”

Paul’s drawing patterns with his thumb over the underside of Hugh’s wrist, inquisitive noise laced with languid contentment.

”This...is perfect.”

”Me dripping cum onto the sheets?”

Hugh swats his shoulder, following it up with a kiss.

”I’m being serious.”

”...I know. It really is, isn’t it?”

”Yeah.”

Outside, a flurry of snow sweeps past the window.

”Happy anniversary, dear doctor.”

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm. So my short and sweet snapshot of Paul wearing Hugh’s shirt turned into...this. The magic of the story pulled me in and I had to write lovemaking instead of sex. I’m not sorry about it.


	105. Savor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quietly watching the love of his life sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones been sitting unfinished for two months - yikes!
> 
> And yes, I do write a lot of bed / snuggle fics, because to me the intimacy between two people is never more clear than in that setting.

He blinks to awareness slowly, drowsy and warm. The arms around him shift a little, but their owner doesn't wake, continuing to snore quietly into the pillow.

It’s still night on Deneva, long before the alarm will go off, but he doesn’t feel quite ready to drift off again. Instead, he pushes up on an elbow and rolls over to face the man behind him, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. His bedmate stirs as he wriggles around, making a displeased noise until he settles down on the pillow again. Their faces are inches apart, and he smiles at the sight before him. 

He's beautiful all of the time, but in sleep even more so. There’s a fragile vulnerability that is seldom evident in their waking hours in the company of others, laughter and frown lines relaxed. He runs his fingertips over the arch of an eyebrow, traces across a high cheekbone and down to the strong line of his jaw. The stubble under his touch sends a shiver of delight up his spine, and he repeats the action even more slowly, relishing the frisson of pleasure.

He lets his eyes wander as his hand moves again, following the prominent collarbone to the point of his shoulder. The contrast in their skin tones is even more evident in the muted glow of the moon past the partially drawn curtains. 

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes narrow in concentration as his hand continues its journey over a firm bicep and down towards his forearm. He can’t quite reach any further than a couple of inches below the elbow in this position, but it’s not a setback. His fingers reverse course, watching the hairs rise in their wake, until they’re splayed over a strongly beating heart.

Some days he still can't believe this gorgeous, gentle, loving man is his, has been his for years. Can’t believe that he loves him back, and can’t imagine his life without him. It’s a comfortable feeling, one he knows down to his core.

The thumb strokes over his chest must tickle, because there’s a languid hum and the arms around him briefly tighten as their owner comes awake. His love's eyes have opened, and he fixes him with a sleepy smile.

"Hi."

"Whatr' you doin'?"

"Just looking."

A bemused look.

”At wha-ahhh-“ a yawn interrupts him, ”at what?”

”You.”

”Hmmm. Why would you,” he pauses, fighting down a yawn, “do something like that?”

”Because you’re beautiful.”

His love must be half-asleep still, because he accepts the compliment with a shy smile and no protestations otherwise.

” ‘Mkay.”

”I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

”S’fine.”

The hand attached to the arm draped over his waist starts rubbing slow, idle circles on his ribs.

”Mmm.”

”Hmmm?”

”Feels good.”

Not long later, the movements slow, followed by another yawn.

”Sorry. D’you...need me awake?”

The earnestness with which the question is asked settles in his stomach, spreading prickles of affection.

”Shhh. Go back to sleep.”

”Mmmmm.”

He waits for his love’s breathing to even out, feels when his arm grows heavy. Casting one last glance upwards, he smiles and snuggles his face into the warm crook of neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

_I love you so much._

They sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whose perspective do you think this chapter is told from? I honestly can’t decide.


	106. Seconds

“Mmmphhh.”

Paul groans softly as Hugh’s weight pitches forward, collapsing onto his chest.

”...sorry.”

The apology comes from somewhere against his shoulder and possibly spoken into the pillow. He breathes out a quiet chuckle, still a bit breathless himself.

”For what?”

Hugh squirms, knees briefly tightening to either side of Paul’s hips, and he’s grateful they had the presence of mind to put down a towel first this time so they can enjoy the afterglow instead of hunting for something to contain the mess. His fingers trace aimless patterns over Hugh’s sweaty back, following the lines of muscle while he waits for an answer.

Eventually, Hugh gets an elbow braced on the sheets by Paul’s shoulder, and pushes himself just far enough up that he can look Paul in the eye.

”For not...mmm...lasting longer.”

That evokes an affectionate, indulgent smile, lazy with sated enjoyment.

”Hugh, that’s our second time today, I don’t think either of us is young enough for that.”

”Are you calling me old?”

Hugh gives him an attempt at an affronted look, but it’s ruined by the amusement in his eyes. 

”Nope. Never.”

”Oh good. For a moment there I was afraid I’d have to keep this-“ he succeeds in making Paul gasp as he wiggles his hips and reminds him that he’s still holding a (currently) small part of his anatomy captive, “until you apologized.”

”You’re seriously threatening to hold my dick hostage?”

”Yes.”

He punctuates his response with another roll of his hips.

”Okay. Just checking.”

Hugh drops his head back onto Paul’s shoulder, sighing. The soft wave of pleasure from the kisses he’s pressing along the underside of Paul’s jaw reminds him that, regardless of what he just said, they’re both too old to go again tonight. He tightens his hold, enjoying the pleased hum against his throat that the action earns him.

”You,” Hugh mutters between kisses, “are insatiable today.”

”Mmm. That’s your fault.”

”My fault? Weren’t you the one eye-fucking me while we were having dinner? In the mess hall? With _Tilly_?”

Paul pinches his side.

”Can you not bring Tilly up while we’re post-coital, please?”

It’s not a serious complaint, but Hugh nods anyway.

”You still haven’t explained how this is my fault.”

Hugh shifts again, and this time they’re both aware of the sweat and other fluids now starting to dry into sticky dampness between them. 

“Ugh.”

Paul waits until Hugh climbs off him before sitting up and using a corner of the towel to swipe the worst of the mess off his stomach while Hugh does a necessarily more through job cleaning his stomach and inner thighs. Once he’s done - and the towel tossed in the direction of the bathroom - he settles on his side and looks at Paul expectantly.

”Well?”

”Well what?”

He knows what Hugh’s asking, but it’s worth playing oblivious just for the bite to his shoulder he gets in response.

”How, exactly, is you jumping me as soon as we got back here, my fault?”

Paul rolls onto his side as well, searching for the right words to explain. Post-coital or not, Hugh picks up on the shift in response to his teasing inquiry, playful expression melting away.

”Sweetheart?”

”You. It’s- you make me feel wanted, Hugh. You..._want_ me. And that still blows my mind.”

Hugh’s lips curve into a small smile, and he leans forward to kiss Paul.

”That goes both ways, love.”


	107. Shovel Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens the first time Hugh brings Paul home for Christmas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references a meeting between Paul and Hugh’s grandmother mentioned in Chapter 29 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy and Chapter 12 of Toothbrush Conversations.

“Paul.”

“Professor Echevarría.” 

Paul is proud of his voice remaining steady, glad that the fading light of dusk hides the flush of embarrassment as he startles.

”Too much for you inside?”

Her voice is calm, no judgment implied, but he’s careful to respond in a way that can’t be misconstrued as a criticism.

”I was in the kitchen, and it got a bit warm.” 

Hugh’s grandmother nods and sits down beside him on the swing, hands clasped in her lap and seemingly content to stare out at the mountains. Behind them, snippets of laughter and loud conversation from the Culber family amidst the Christmas celebrations fade out beneath the sound of waves on the shore. After a few minutes, she turns back to him, expression unreadable.

”Hugh loves you very much.”

Heat blooms across his cheeks again, accompanied by a shy smile.

”I- he’s...amazing.”

“He is. My grandson has room in his heart for so many people, it’s why he’s a good doctor.”

Paul nods.

”He cares so much.”

”He always has, ever since he was a boy.”

Despite his nerves, he smiles at the tidbit of information. It doesn’t surprise him in the least.

”I could see that.”

She stares at him, and he can see where Hugh inherited the steel in his spine.

”Tell me, Paul Stamets, do you love him as much as he loves you? Because if you don’t,” Aida sits up straight, tone hardening, “I would ask you to stop now before you break his heart.”

It takes a couple of tries before the words will leave his suddenly dry throat. There’s something about her that compels complete honesty, not that he would ever dissemble in regards to his feelings for Hugh.

”I love him. More than-“ he can’t look away, pinned by her gaze, “more than I have ever loved anyone else. He’s...I couldn’t be happy without him in my life.”

Aida’s expression doesn’t change for long enough that Paul can feel his palms start to sweat. Then-

“He wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”

Hugh’s been very clear about that, but hearing someone else say it is completely different. He blinks back an unexpected wave of emotion as she takes his hand.

”Take good care of him, Paul. Hugh will give you everything if you ask.”

”I- yes. I will.”

She seems to be waiting for something else.

”I promise.”

At last, her face softens.

”And if you’ll accept some relationship advice from a very nosy grandmother?” 

”Of course.”

”Don’t go to sleep angry with each other. Even if you have to go to bed arguing, make sure you’ve resolved it before you turn off the lights. Talk to each other. And,” her eyes turn mischievous, “have a lot of sex.”

Paul wonders if it’s possible to give oneself a heart attack by blushing this much, and he looks away over the railing at the coast, trying to control his self-conscious reaction.

”I- uhh...”

“Forgive the presumption, but I am assuming you two are enjoying yourselves?“

They are, in fact, very much so. Hugh’s as amazing in bed as he is out of it, not just his skill but his ability to make Paul feel comfortable and uninhibited. That’s not precisely something he’s shared with anyone but his closest friends, and certainly isn’t planning on saying so to Hugh’s grandmother.

She laughs, not unkindly at all, and gently grips his chin, turning his head back towards her. He can see that she’s inviting him to share the tease rather than being embarrassed.

”That’s probably enough about your relationship for tonight.”

”Umm. Thank you? I mean, thank you, Professor.”

Her smile is brilliant white, just like Hugh’s.

”You know,” she tilts her head to the side in a familiar mannerism (and he wonders if his partner had learned it from her), “you can call me Aida, if you’d like.”

”Thank you, Aida.”

She pats his knee.

”At least until you feel comfortable enough calling me Abuela.”

He’s aware of his jaw hanging open, and she waits patiently for him to wrap his mind around the magnitude of what that means.

”You-“

”Abuelita!” Hugh’s voice comes from the direction of the kitchen door behind them, “Stop scaring him.”

Footsteps, and then Hugh is sitting down on his other side, arm wrapped around his waist. He leans into it, and the kiss Hugh presses to his cheek.

”I was doing nothing of the sort,” Aida protests.

”Oh? Why do I not believe you?”

Hugh’s challenge is affectionate, and Paul finds himself smiling as well.

”Not at all.”

”Was she trying to scare you off, sweetheart?”

The tone is light, but he can hear the undercurrent of uncertainty buried deep under the surface.

”No. Ai- Abuela was just giving me relationship advice.”

He’s very careful to pronounce it correctly, and Aida gives him an approving look.

”Oh my go- please tell me she didn’t give you the ‘have a ton of sex’ speech?”

Hugh sounds genuinely scandalized, but Paul doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at how he referred to her.

“It’s good advice. I told the same thing to your cousins, and my own chil-“

Hugh actually takes his hand off Paul to shove his fingers in his ears. 

”You’re a doctor,” she comments mildly once he settles again, “don’t pretend you’re embarrassed by it.”

”I’m not embarrassed by it, I just don’t want to think about...yeah.”

”All right. I’ll try not to embarrass you and your novio any further.”

”Thank you.”

”Did your mother send you out to rescue him from me, or...”

Hugh’s hand returns, resting on his thigh, and he closes his eyes briefly, just savoring the moment and content to let them speak. The teasing interplay between Hugh and his grandmother fits another piece into his heart that Paul didn’t know was missing.

********

”Really, sweetheart, did my grandmother give you the shovel talk?”

They’re tucked under the covers in Hugh’s old room, echoes of voices from downstairs barely audible. It was well past 0200 by the time Paul had begged off yawning, despite the rest of the family showing no signs of calling it a night. Hugh had excused them both until morning, picking up their bags from the entryway and leading him up the darkened staircase.

The bed barely qualifies as a double, which means two average sized grown men (well above average, counting Hugh’s delightful musculature) would have to be very close indeed to avoid falling off the edge. It’s not really a problem for them, although Paul hopes he’s not squishing Hugh’s arm too badly.

”A shovel what?”

”Shovel talk. You know, back in the twentieth century when people threatened to hit someone over the head with a shovel if they weren’t well-behaved.”

”Oh. No? Sort of? Not really.”

”Okay. Just making sure. Abuela can be...overprotective.”

Given what he’s pieced together about Hugh’s past relationships, Paul honestly thinks it’s not completely unjustified.

”Not as bad as Tracy did.”

Hugh groans.

”What did she tell you?”

”That she’d paralyze me and remove my balls one at a time using a dull laser scalpel if I ever hurt you on purpose.”

“Oh no.”

”It’s fine, she only did that once, and I don’t think she’s actively planning my demise.”

Hugh’s hand wiggles free to cup Paul’s groin. 

“I rather like your balls where they are, if you don’t mind.”

”So do I. Actually,” Paul clears his throat, “I’d probably do it myself if I ever did. Hurt you.”

”Speaking of...” Hugh’s tone suggests he’s steering them away from the too-serious direction of the conversation, “maybe I should check on them now?”

The playful touch heads towards fondling. Paul hums in pleasure, until-

“Hugh! We can’t do that here.”

His partner’s hand pauses halfway under the waistband of his pajama pants at his hissed protest.

”Why not?”

”Hugh, your _whole family_ is downstairs.”

”So? I locked the door.”

”I mean,” Paul sputters, trying to put words to it, “you slept here. Growing up. So...”

”And I spent most of my teenage years jerking off in this bed. It’s seen plenty of action.”

He’s not sure if he should be scandalized or titillated by that piece of information.

”Wait...”

Hugh sighs dramatically, but doesn’t move any further to undo the drawstrings.

”For?”

”Did you...umm. You know. With uhh, anyone...?”

There’s a beat of silence as Hugh does the magical thing where he pieces together what Paul’s saying even when it doesn’t make sense.

”Oh. Oh...no, I haven’t had sex with anyone else in this bed.”

”I think I’m strangely disappointed?”

A laugh, then Hugh’s breath is hot in Paul’s ear, hand slipping lower against bare skin.

”Do you want me to tell you about it? About me lying here, thinking about the kind of guy I wanted, touching myself?”

He punctuates the question with a squeeze.

”Mmmmm...yes? Yes.”

”I was all skinny then,” Hugh chuckles, “all arms and legs and wondering if I’d be stuck like that forever.”

His other hand, previously sandwiched between Paul’s arm and the bed, relocates to tease the nearest covered nipple, pinching and plucking at it.

”You- ohhhh...you’re ridiculously ahh- attractive no matter. What.”

Hugh’s hand is working him so perfectly that it takes Paul a dozen strokes before he’s able to slip his own hand behind his back and try to return the favor. It’s an awkward angle, so Hugh solves the problem by bodily shifting Paul and pulling him to lie between his spread legs. The casual display of strength is always a turn-on, and it’s a struggle to focus when Hugh is smiling at him like that, eyes full of promised pleasure.

“That works too.”

Hugh’s smile turns wicked, and he lifts them up again to shove their pants down around their hips, giving them both better access.

Despite the growing heat, their strokes are unhurried, the kisses slow and thorough. They’re both still fully dressed otherwise, rubbing together and creating delicious friction amidst the crackles of static from the tangled sheets. Paul’s feeling a little floaty from the after-dinner drinks, and his reservations have all but vanished.

Hugh’s fingers are just teasing their way down from his lower back when there’s footsteps and a loud thump just outside in the hall. They both freeze, Paul stiffening as the door rattles.

”Owwww!”

”-shhhhh!”

He recognizes the muffled voices as two of Hugh’s cousins.

”Hugh’s asleep anyway-“

”Trying to be asleep!” Hugh yells in the direction of the door, “Mina, I swear, if you sprained your wrist again, I’m not fixing it this year!”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

More footsteps and another voice. This time it sounds like Hugh’s mother shooing his cousins to bed. Paul doesn’t relax until the noises have faded, dropping his head onto the pillow in relief.

”Sorry,” Hugh’s genuinely apologetic, “I told you my family couldn’t be quiet if our lives depended on it.”

”It’s fine.”

A gentle squeeze and wry chuckle remind him of what they were doing before the interruption.

”To be continued tomorrow?”

He can feel himself rapidly softening, although Hugh doesn’t seem to have been bothered by the interruption.

“Yeah. Unless- do you want me to...“ he pushes himself up a little and glances downward, “I can suc-“

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Hugh’s smile and kiss lets him know he’s not feeling deprived. They work their pants back up and straighten the covers, this time with Paul on his back and Hugh curled around his side.

”Have I scared you off ever coming home with me for Christmas again?”

”What? Oh no, this has been...really great. I like your family, they’re just very...”

”Loud?”

”I was going to say honest.”

Hugh nods, and he can see a hint of unfamiliar insecurity pass over his face.

”Is that...okay?”

”It’s fine. No, I mean it. I’m just not used to it, but it’s...good.”

”Really?”

”Yes,” he kisses Hugh again, on the cheek and on the tiny frown creasing his forehead, “I’m sure.”

They snuggle closer, the sounds in the house fading even further. 

“I think your grandmother’s decided I’m worthy of you?”

”Abuela adores you, Paul.”

”Are you sure?”

”Paul, you’ve just met her and she’s letting you use her first name.”

“She umm, she told me it was okay to use her name, if I wasn’t comfortable calling her Abuela? Your mom looked surprised, I hope I’m not being disrespectful?”

Hugh uses the hand resting on Paul’s chest to lever himself up until he can look him in the eyes.

”Paul...every guy since my first boyfriend when I was fifteen, has had to address her as Professor Echevarría. Maybe one or two ever got to use her first name? But she’s never told anyone else to call her that.”

“...oh.”

”Yeah.”

”Wow.”

He blinks up at the ceiling as Hugh settles down again, nuzzling into his neck and yawning.

”You’re family now,” he murmurs, “they’re going to love you almost as much as I do from now on.”

“I...”

”Shhh. Sleep, love, Mama is going to wake us all up early for Christmas breakfast.”

”Seriously?”

”Yeah,” Hugh yawns again, “don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

”Okay.”

He pulls the covers up further around them both, smiling at Hugh’s drowsy hum.

”Goodnight, sweetheart. Love you.”

”I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s grandmother’s last name borrowed from Wilson’s mother.


	108. Supply (Closet)

“...mmmm....”

”Like-“ _kiss_ “that?”

”You know I do.”

”I’m fishing for compliments, humor me.”

“Why’d you stop?”

”I’m waiting.”

”You, my dear doctor, are possessed of the most talented mouth in the universe. Not only can you talk your partner into an erection, but your kisses are ranked off the scale after numerous samples, and your tongue is particularly talented when you’re licking my- OH!”

”I take that back, you sound like you’re narrating a terrible documentary.”

_Kiss_

_Kiss kiss kiss _

”Fuck, be careful, I have to go on duty after.”

”There’s a regen in my pocket.”

”And here I thought you were just happy to see me.”

“Well, I-“

_Swish_

“...for the love of- seriously?”

”...uhhh hi Trace. What are you, umm doing here?”

“Seeing as we’re in ‘fleet Medical and this is a supply closet, it just so happens I was coming to find the portable display your partner’s ass is parked on.”

”Errr. Hi Tracy. Sorry.”

_Clank_

_Thump_

“You’re back on in ten.”

”I know. Ummm, could you...?”

”Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Have a safe flight, Stamets.”

”Thanks.”

”And next time, Hugh? Lock the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envisioning Hugh and Tracy in San Francisco sometime pre-Discovery, and Paul is on layover :)


	109. Sweat

“...almost got it...”

Tilly’s voice is strained. Her head, arms, and upper torso are hidden inside the conduit, but the sound of tools and her own muttered commentary drift back out.

”Remind me,” Paul grunts as Tilly shifts her weight on his shoulders, “why I’m the one holding her up?”

It’s a clearly rhetorical and toothless complaint, but Hugh rolls his eyes in response anyway. His broken ankle is propped up on a crate, and he can see Paul eyeing it while pretending to scratch his nose.

“Sorry sirs! It’s- tricky...oww!” they both grimace at the sound of what’s probably Tilly’s elbow colliding with something in the tight space, “I’ll try to go faster.”

”You’re fine, Cadet,” Hugh calls across from his position on the floor, “the Lieutenant is just complaining because he doesn’t like to be on the bottom.”

The look Paul shoots at him is a mix of over exaggerated wince at the truly _terrible_ double entendre and incredulous outrage.

”_What?”   
_

He mouths the word, adjusting his stance yet again as Tilly leans forward.

”Hugh...” the syllable comes out as a hiss, quiet enough that Tilly won’t be able to hear.

Hugh blows him a kiss. It’s a calculated risk - poking at Paul is definitely keeping his partner’s mind off the physical strain, but he’s running out of good material and despite his calm expression, is rapidly losing the ability to ignore the absolute agony in his boot. 

More to the point, if they don’t get out of this room in the next few hours, they’re going to run up against serious issues with dehydration and hyperthermia. He glances at the tricorder resting on his folded jacket and groans.

45C.

At the time, taking the opportunity to tag along on an away mission under the guise of “monitoring the Lieutenant’s condition” (Tracy had snorted unsubtly at his reasoning) had seemed like a good idea. There’s a half dozen other away teams exploring different areas of the derelict base, and no one had any reason to suspect anything worse than a stubbed toe. 

Paul and Tilly were busy examining some sort of self-contained power generator when the ground had jolted beneath everyone’s feet. The planet had some seismic activity, but the magnitude of the quake was far beyond the small tremors that they’d picked up from orbit. This one violently pitched Tilly against the wall, Paul sprawling over the floor a few meters away as bits of dusty debris rained down. Hugh had unfortunately been coming into the room as the quake knocked out the base’s power, leaving the heavy slab of metal to fall on him.

Before all of the dust had settled, the other two were on their feet and racing to Hugh’s side at his cry of pain. Paul hadn’t panicked for more than a few seconds, and between him and Tilly they were able to lever the door up just enough to free his trapped leg. Proving Murphy’s Law, his field bag with its medical supplies managed to end up on the other side of the door, leaving him with only their tricorders and the tiny emergency medkit stashed in Tilly’s utility pouch. The painkillers were laughably inadequate, but he took them anyway, grateful for Paul’s hand to squeeze.

Speaking of, he’d really like it again now. 

Their communicators aren’t working - Paul theorized some sort of magnetic interference - so they’re stuck until someone manages to locate them and get the door open again. On top of it all, the power loss means no more forced air to cool the room against the desert planet’s environment, and the temperature is still steadily rising. If he was superstitious, Hugh would probably ascribe the horrible chain of events to some sort of malicious intent. Unfortunately, it looks like nothing but a string of really bad luck, so there’s no restless being to placate for a quick fix. 

”...oh! Damn, almost- no, hang on...”

Tilly’s cursing and narration are a welcome distraction. She’d suggested using the relays in the overhead conduit to boost a communicator signal, hence Paul currently serving as her ladder. It’s been a half hour since Paul and Tilly managed to coordinate their efforts enough to reach the conduit, but Hugh’s hopes for a technological breakthrough are dwindling. 

All things considered, Hugh isn’t sure whether he’d prefer their roles to be reversed. On one hand, he’d certainly have an easier time supporting Tilly and would happily _not_ be in possession of a shattered talus. On the other, seeing Paul in pain and being unable to help him beyond splinting isn’t a much better alternative. 

The throbbing makes him want to tear his boot off, but it’s the only thing keeping the joint from swelling too far and stabilizing the broken bone. He presses his fingers to the skin exposed by his rolled-up pant leg, trying to gauge temperature. It’s hard to be sure in this environment, but his shin feels significantly hotter. Gritting his teeth, he scans his leg again.

”Hugh?” There’s no teasing in Paul’s voice at all, just mounting concern.

_Damn_.

He schools his expression back into something less pained, but there’s no ignoring the readings. By some small miracle it’s not an open fracture and he’s not going to bleed out, but there’s a real danger of serious ligament damage that could take days to regen properly. He closes his eyes against another wave of pain, lightheaded, and concentrates on breathing through it. It’s not as bad as the agony of a torn shoulder, but also isn’t far off. 

There’s a thump and more assorted cursing. The darkness behind his eyelids disappears when he opens them in surprise at the hand on his shoulder. It doesn’t feel like Paul’s touch.

”Wha-“

Tilly sits down next to him, jacket abandoned and every bit of exposed skin streaked with grime and dust. 

”If it worked, Discovery should be able to track us, but I uhhh it’s not something I can check. Broadcast signal.”

He feels Paul settle on his other side, protocol out the airlock as he wraps an arm around Hugh’s waist, and he leans into his partner hard enough to earn another worried look.

“How’s the leg?”

”In my professional medical opinion? Won’t kill me, but it really _really_ hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Tilly mutters, “Michael kept telling me to pack a full kit just in case, but I thought, ‘we won’t need it, Doctor Culber is gonna be with us’, and...”

She trails off lamely, gesturing vaguely at the door.

”Nothing to apologize for, I’m glad you were carrying one at all.”

It’s not meant as a dig at his partner at all, but he can see Paul wince in his peripheral vision. 

_Sorry_, Paul mouths at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

He squeezes his thigh gently in response, receiving a surprising kiss to the cheek when Tilly turns away to rummage in her utility pouch for water.

“How long until we know if it worked?”

Tilly glances at Paul instead of answering him directly.

”Honestly? No idea. If they weren’t in range who knows? We could try again in a half hour.”

”That’s...okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, the temperature has gone up another two degrees and Hugh is more grateful than ever for his choice of a sleeveless undershirt and upbringing in a warm climate. Paul’s not doing as well; he’s sweated out most of the gel, damp hair clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed with heat but he stubbornly refuses to move from Hugh’s side. Tilly’s fanning them all with a bit of broken panel, but even her sunny disposition seems to be melting. 

Hugh gave up doing anything but focusing on not screaming five minutes ago. His head is starting to swim again, and he can tell from Tilly’s worried look that he’s not hiding it well anymore.

”-ugh?”

_That’s weird._

Paul’s voice sounds funny, faint and quiet. He turns his head to look, but the room seems to roll upside down, and his ears are ringing.

”Doctor? Doctor!”

”Hugh!”

_Stop yelling_, he wants to say, but his lips won’t form the words.

The sparks of pain in his vision narrow down and fade out, and-

_You're passing out._

“...’m fuh- fii...mmmffuhhnnnn...”

Darkness.

********

When Hugh and consciousness are on speaking terms again, the first thing he notices is that his ankle doesn’t hurt. He wiggles his toes before even opening his eyes, relieved when everything seems to be normal. The air smells like detergent and Paul’s cologne, and the surface under him feels far too comfortable to be a biobed, so...

”Hugh?”

”Hmmmmmm.”

His eyes feel gritty when he pries them open, blurred shapes solidifying into one of his favorite sights in the universe: Paul’s face. 

He licks his lips and tries again.

”Hi.”

_There it is._ Paul’s frown is replaced with a small smile. 

“Welcome back.”

There’s a pinch when he goes to raise his hand, and he glances down to see a line running with plain saline. It also confirms that he’s back in their quarters, tucked into bed, and he figures he can live with the IV for a bit longer.

”Dehad- dehydrated?”

A nod.

“Tracy said you’ll be fine, but she wanted to let you sleep it off. She also said to tell you she got to use her new osteo regen, and-” he cuts off Hugh’s question, “you can review the logs with her tomorrow.”

“Well then. Are you going to stay?”

That last is said in a voice that’s much more uncertain that intended.

“Promise. Tracy ordered me and Tilly off for a full twenty-four and banned us from the lab, so you’re stuck with me.”

Hugh uses his other hand to cup Paul’s cheek.

”No complaints here. But- sweetheart, what is it?”

Paul’s expression falls, but before Hugh can say anything, he’s lying down curled close against Hugh’s side.

”I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

Ahhh.

”Goes both ways, love.”

His partner has the grace to look contrite, even though it’s not meant as a criticism.

”I know. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this,” he taps his forearm, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

He rests his cheek on Paul’s forehead, eyes growing heavy again.

”Falling asleep on me?”

”You’re-“ he's interrupted by a yawn, “technically the one on me.”

Paul snuggles closer.

”Minor details. Go ahead and sleep, Hugh. I’ll be right here.”

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure where this one came from, other than a desire to reverse the roles of who’s usually the one injured. Also just realized Paul and Tilly are watching Hugh pass out again, like they did in the first chapter that started this whole collection of stories off. Ooops?


	110. Species

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place some time after the halfway point of "The Red Angel” but before Pike beams down to talk to Gabrielle Burnham in "Perpetual Infinity".

The first time Nhan meets Dr. Culber is in the medbay. She’s had some trouble adjusting to the new augment, and is hoping Dr. Pollard can effect a quick fix. Instead, she steps into a scene of carefully controlled chaos. Dr. Pollard has her back to the main doors, flanked by a nurse and tech huddled over a biobed in the corner. An agonized yell cuts the air from whoever they’re treating, followed by a series of gasping breaths. Nhan takes a half-step backwards in surprise, then jumps as her shoulder collides with something solid. 

”Whoa, hey, you’re okay,” the person she bumped into catches her elbow as she stumbles, “sorry about that, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

Someone activates a privacy field around the biobed, shielding doctor and patient from view, and silencing the pained cries. The hand on her arm lets go as soon as her footing is steady, and she turns to face the owner of said hand.

The person is a human male dressed in medical white, about her height and built strongly, judging by the way the uniform fits, with that strange affectation of facial hair that some humans seemed to prefer. She’s not the best at judging age for other species, but - her eyes flick down to the pips on his badge - he’s probably a doctor given his rank. He seems familiar, and Nhan frowns a little, trying to think where she’s seen him before. 

“- do for you, Commander?”

His question cuts through her thoughts, and she smiles to defuse any awkwardness.

”Nhan,” she holds out her hand in the human fashion, “I don’t think we’ve met?”

Something flickers over his face, there and gone again in an instant.

”Not properly. Airiam’s service didn’t quite seem an appropriate place to make introductions.”

That’s right, he was standing behind her. Something’s off in her memory, because she’s almost certain he wasn’t in uniform at the time. 

“I’m Doctor Culber,” his grip on her hand is firm, unlike that of some human males she’s met, “pleased to meet you as well.”

Oh. Well that’s interesting. She knows exactly who Dr. Culber was from the briefing notes Number One gave her before she beamed over from Enterprise with Captain Pike, was even on the bridge during his rescue from the mycelial network. 

“Commander?”

He’s looking at her with concern, and she shakes her head.

”Sorry Doctor, I should have been paying more attention.”

”What? Oh, no, you’re fine. I’m sure you didn’t expect to walk into a delivery.”

Ahhh. Well, that explains the screaming, and it also means Dr. Pollard is going to be busy for a while. 

“Definitely a first. Human births seem quite...” she searches for a polite way to say it, “ummm, messy.”

Her word choice draws a laugh from the doctor, and he nods.

”That’s one way to put it. Were you coming to see Doctor Pollard?”

”Yes, but I don’t suppose she’ll be available any time soon.”

“Probably at least another hour. I can have her comm you when she’s free if you don’t mind waiting. Or if there’s something I can do...” he trails off, head tilting, “unless it’s something you’d specifically like to see her for.”

She’s not sure Dr. Culber is familiar with Barzan physiology, but it can’t hurt to ask.

“No, nothing like that. It’s my augment,” she points at her right cheek, “when I woke up this morning the interface point was sore. Still feels funny, actually.”

He already has a scanner out before she finishes her last sentence, waving the probe over the area and humming thoughtfully.

”I see. There’s some inflammation at the site, probably what you’re feeling. Would it be all right for me to take a closer look?”

She sits on the edge of the biobed he indicates.

”Go ahead.”

The scanner whirs again, and he puts on a glove before gently touching the skin just behind the attachment point. It stings, and she can’t help the hiss of pain.

”I’m sorry,” he says immediately, “but it looks like you might have a mild infection.”

Nhan groans.

”Great.”

He flicks the scanner readings onto the screen at the head of the bed, zooming in to point at an area in her right cheek just behind the augment. 

“See that there? It’s fairly minor, but I can see how it would cause you discomfort in that area.“

”My last set didn’t have any problems,” she side eyes him as he leans in to check the interface point again, “is there something wrong with these?”

Dr. Culber shakes his head.

“I’m not an expert on this type of device, but I think it probably happened when it was being fitted. It’s nothing serious but I’ll need to give you an antibiotic so it doesn’t get any worse.”

”Sure.”

He turns to retrieve a hypospray, opening a drawer and checking the labels on the cartridges.

”Have you worked with augments before, Doctor?”

His shoulders stiffen briefly, and she thinks he might have closed his eyes. There’s no trace of it on his face when he straightens.

”Yes, I designed Commander Stamets’ augments.”

Damn. Practically everyone on the ship knows they don’t seem to be on speaking terms at the moment.

”Sorry Doctor, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

His kind eyes look impossibly tired for a moment, but it’s so quick she might have imagined it.

”It’s fine, really. You don’t need to walk on eggshells.”

Another peculiar human metaphor. There's not much she can say to that though, so she nods and pops her collar open for him to administer the antibiotic.

”That should take care of the infection. Do you want something topical for the site until it works?”

Nhan gingerly probes the area with a fingertip. Now that she’s expecting it, it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable.

”No, it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

”Okay. If you change your mind though, just let me know.”

”Thanks.”

He sets down the hypospray and discards his glove, tucking his scanner back into the holster on his hip.

”Is there anything else you need, Commander?”

”No, that’s all. And just call me Nhan,” she offers. 

The smile he gives her lights up his face in a way that most species seemed to find attractive.

“All right, Nhan.”

He moves back to give her room to step off the biobed.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

”My pleasure.”

Doctor Culber nods at her one more time before turning to head back to one of the larger consoles, probably updating her file. Nhan gives his back one more look before leaving the medbay. 

Very interesting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a lot of fun writing Tilly and Tracy, and figured it was time for another perspective. Nhan is such an underutilized character in fics! I tried to make her “voice” match with what we hear her say on screen, but let me know if anything seems out of character. 
> 
> Everyone always seems to use Earth-norm body language and facial expressions, but I wanted to explore the thought process that must have to go on for anyone to interpret those from someone of another species.


	111. Standards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Hugh and Tracy about the state of their relationships.

"Hi."

_"Hey Trace."_

"Now a good time? What time is it there anyway?"

_"Just after oh-two-hundred, but I'm working a split so I'll be on in an hour."_

"Okay. So..."

_"So, tell me about this new guy you're seeing? Mykel or something, right?"_

"Mikhail, and I'm not seeing him anymore."

_"Oh. Oh? Hang on, I know that look...what did he say?"_

"He told me that he couldn't see himself in a long term relationship with a doctor because he wouldn't be the first priority."

_"Wow. Did he-"_

"It's fine, Hugh. I appreciated the honesty."

_"Still. There's professional and personal and sure, sometimes they collide, but I'm not sure how someone could think you wouldn't make them a priority."_

"Both times we were out in SF, Medical called me in for emergencies and I had to leave. So I understand."

_"...he did realize that saving lives is more important than a date, right?"_

"I don't know. Leave it, Hugh, okay? I just...I would really, really like the next person I go out with to be in the 'Fleet too."

_"Okay. Sorry. I won't bring it up again until you do. And don't tell me you're not hip-deep in heroic officers consigned to 'Fleet Med because they were injured in the line of duty?"_

"That's the plot of a really bad soap opera."

_"Just saying._

"And weren't you complaining to me the last time we were on leave about how being propositioned by patients just feels unethical? Pot, kettle."

_"Ummm. Yes? Yes. I meant the ones asking you out for an actual date and not just 'thanks for saving my life, can I have sex with you to display my gratitude?' requests."_

"Seeing their medical histories, probably not. Could you see me with some Security heavy who keeps throwing himself in the line of phaser fire when he could have just used all that tactical training and run away?"

_"Yeah, no. Good point."_

"What about you? Have we ruled out engineers as an entire profession, or was it just the last one?"

_"I haven't decided yet. I mean, he was nice and seemed interested, but there was just something...off. It was weird."_

"Your instincts are usually good."

_"Most of the time? I dunno, Trace, it feels like maybe I'm just expecting too much."_

"If you are, I am, and actually...that's probably why we're both single."

_"Yeah."_

"On the other hand, it does mean we're not miserably attached to someone else."

_"True. But why is it so hard to find a guy who's intelligent and does something he's passionate about AND is an actual interesting human being?"_

"Apparently we're setting the bar too high. And don't forget, isn't completely shallow, doesn't mind listening to that awful opera you like, isn't afraid of your grandmother, and is at least average in bed."

_"Thanks for the reminder."_

"You're welcome. It's a service I'm happy to provide."

_"I mean, all of that is probably negotiable? For the right person?"_

"What brought this on?"

_"Dee and Nami just got engaged."_

"Right, I saw that."

_"It made me think...is there something I'm doing wrong?"_

"Don't be ridiculous. You've got plenty to offer. Hell, like I keep saying, I must be doing it wrong too."

_"And getting to know someone is terrible when you're going off-planet. No one's really been good about doing things long-distance, and I get it. I do. I want someone I can physically see on a regular basis too, but I'm willing to compromise. At least I think I am?"_

"I know you, Hugh. You need someone who deserves you taking care of them, and I might be biased, but I think that's the part that's hard to find."

_"...thanks, Trace. And sorry for being so depressing."_

"I'm serious. Weren't you also the one telling me not to settle for less than I deserve?"

_"..."_

"Exactly."

_"But what you're asking for isn't unreasonable."_

"And you think yours is?"

_"I think most of them have been found by someone else already. Like Dee and Nami."_

"They only met because Nami missed her shuttle to Rigel, Dee wasn't going out of her way to look for someone. I thought she'd sworn off relationships anyway, after the last one."

_"Exactly it though. People have these great stories of meeting someone without doing anything special for it."_

"If I had an answer, you and I wouldn't need to have this conversation. Sadly, human men are still unevolved."

_"I'm trying to decide if I should be offended by that."_

"No. I'd tell you."

_"Just making sure."_

"Twenty-third century and people still can't communicate. Sometimes I wonder how humanity survived this long."

_"The technological advancement curve outweighed natural selection."_

"You would think. I- hang on, got a priority. Pollard. What? Okay, who's already covering? Three? Call in Guillaume and Lee, I'll meet you there in- in twenty. Pollard out."

_"Sounds serious."_

"Sorry, have to cut this short. One of the training sims malfunctioned. No fatalities so far, but there were seventy cadets in it. Probably going to be there a while."

_"Yeah. Comm me later?"_

"Sure. Night Hugh."

_"Bye Trace."_


	112. Spill

The first time Paul sees Hugh without his shirt on is completely accidental.

They’ve had a dozen or so comms over the last few weeks, and he finally had to admit to himself that there’s more to his interest than simply arguing over Hugh’s questionable taste in music. The realization happened by the seventh comm, but he still hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask if the glint in Hugh’s eyes when he smiles at Paul means what he hopes it means. 

Hugh is everything Paul isn’t - cheerful, outgoing, always assuming the best of others, the person even strangers immediately felt they could trust. And he’s beautiful. Moreover, he’s genuinely interested in what Paul has to say about fungi and the nexus of biology and physics. He asks questions that prove he’s listening, bringing in stories from his own experiences as a doctor, and doesn’t ever seem impatient for Paul to stop talking. Quite the opposite; the last time they spoke, Hugh let him ramble on long past his own intended bedtime, and Paul didn’t find out till the next day that he’d only gotten three hours of sleep before his shift. Hugh took his commitment as a physician as seriously as Paul was dedicated to his science, which made the seeming irresponsibility all the more striking. 

They’re in the middle of a discussion on the merits of Vulcan sistra over Centurian bells when Hugh sneezes. Paul is halfway through a “bless you” (a quaint human saying to be sure, but one as instinctive as anything) when he realizes Hugh also managed to dump the entire contents of his mostly-full cup of coffee over the front of his shirt.

”...damn,” Hugh looks torn between laughter and incredulity, holding the dripping mug aloft for a few seconds before setting it off to the side.

”Are you okay?”

The coffee had probably gone cold already, and Paul doesn’t think Hugh would be laughing if it hurt, but he’d rather make sure.

”Oh I’m fine. That was...” he breaks off, glancing down at himself, “unexpected.”

”Terrible timing.”

”Sorry. Hang on- okay if I go change?”

”No, you have to sit here smelling like coffee.”

His deadpan reply draws one of Hugh’s toothy grins, and his heart leaps into his throat when he stands and winks at Paul before picking up his PADD and depositing it on the nightstand next to his dresser. Whatever clever follow up Paul thought he was going to make disappears along with most of his higher brain functions when Hugh grips the hem of his shirt in both hands and pulls it off in one smooth motion. 

Oh. _Oh_.

Paul would have to be visually impaired to not be aware of how well-built Hugh is in comparison to his own slight frame, but even his most private musings about what he might look like under the tight shirts he favors don’t do him justice. Miles of golden skin fill the screen as Hugh bends to hunt through the dresser for a fresh shirt, back muscles rippling. From where the PADD is propped up, Paul can just see his left biceps flex as he closes one drawer and opens another. It’s...breathtaking, and he just manages to snap his mouth closed by the time Hugh turns back around.

He really shouldn’t have bothered when the view from the front is even better. Hugh has the shirt pulled over his head, but seems to be struggling with the long sleeves tangled in the armholes. It has the effect of flexing his stomach - and oh sweet goodness he has such a defined V-line that Paul can feel his pants starting to grow tight. His eyes flit back upwards as Hugh curses softly, laughing and trying to shove his arms through properly. 

Paul really, really wants to touch those pectoral muscles and find out if they’re as solid as they look. He wonders what it would be like to have Hugh hug him, if he’d be as gentle as Paul’s imagination thinks.

”...okay?”

”Whuh?”

He blinks back to find Hugh watching him with an indulgent smile, apparently having given up as he’s holding the PADD again and is now completely shirtless.

”You zoned out for a minute there.”

”Oh. Ummm. No? No. I didn’t.”

Hugh tilts his head to the side, and for a few terrifying seconds Paul is certain he’s going to call out Paul’s complete inability to lie convincingly. 

”Right. So, what where you saying about the bells?”

They pick up the conversation where it left off when Hugh sneezed. Paul does his best to argue in favor of the sistra’s harmonics, but he keeps getting distracted by the way the nightstand light shadows the swell of Hugh’s chest. He’s not entirely sure that Hugh buys his excuse of being tired, although he doesn’t say anything to disagree. 

At last, they’re both yawning enough that they know it’s time to sign off. It’s clear that Hugh is just as hesitant as Paul, but he wishes he knew if it was for the same reasons.

”Same time tomorrow?”

”Yeah. I’ll try not to douse my shirt in coffee again, because I really need to do laundry.”

Hugh stands, stretching, and Paul is treated to a view of the thin trail of hair disappearing under the waist of Hugh’s pants. 

“Earth to Doctor Stamets.”

”...huh?”

”You must really be tired. I won’t keep you up any longer then.”

”Goodnight, Hugh.”

”Night. Sweet dreams.”

He could have sworn Hugh’s smile is a little too knowing, but his image blinks out as the call ends and he’s left with a reflection of his own face over the Starfleet emblem on the screen. 

_Quit reading into it, Stamets.   
_

_********_

It isn’t until years later into their relationship that they’re having breakfast and Hugh sneezes. The cup he’d raised to his lips lands squarely back on the table despite the disturbance, and it jogs something in Paul’s memory.

”Bless yo- wait.”

Hugh sniffles and wipes his eyes.

”What is it babe?”

”You...”

Paul looks from Hugh’s face to the full cup of coffee to his still pristine white uniform and back again.

”Oh my god.”

”What?”

”You...” Paul breaks off as realization dawns, “you did that...”

His partner blinks back at him in confusion.

”...did what?”

”That first time. When we were comming and you spilled coffee and had to change your shirt.”

“Yeah?”

”You did that on purpose!”

A moment later, Hugh’s face lights up with delighted laughter.

”Two PhDs and you’re only _now_ figuring that out?”

”Oh my...you-“ Paul runs out of words and decides it’s just easier to kiss Hugh instead, “-I love you.”

Hugh pulls back and kisses the tip of Paul’s nose, laughing again as he swats at the tickling lips. 

“I love you too. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

There’s no criticism, just deep affection, and Paul tries to roll his eyes but he can’t suppress the smile.

”I almost passed out when you did that-”

”Okay now you’re making that up.”

”...from all the blood rushing to my dick.”

“This old thing?”

Hugh glances down at himself, cheeks flushing a little but mostly teasing. Paul’s fascination with Hugh’s body hasn’t dwindled over time, and he doesn’t think it’s likely to in the future. 

“Yeah.”

A PADD chirps, interrupting them, and Hugh sighs when he looks at the screen. 

“Shift starts in ten. You sure you won’t be bored here alone?”

”I brought work.”

”Sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on leave.”

”I am. You’re here, you’re abandoning me for six hours, but you’ll be back, so I might as well have something to keep my mind off feeling deprived until then.”

He’s rather proud of that answer.

”All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Standing, Hugh curves his palm around Paul’s jaw and gives him another kiss.

”Shoo. Sooner you leave, sooner you’re back,” he takes the opportunity to steal a brief caress of Hugh’s shapely backside outlined in his medical whites, “and I demand cuddling to make up for your absence.”

”Mmmhmm.”

Hugh’s gone a few seconds later, and Paul settles back on the couch, PADD forgotten on the table. He imagines them living together, having breakfast every morning and falling asleep next to each other becoming the norm and not a rare treat for a few weeks out of the year. Smiling, Paul closes his eyes and lets his mind wander.

Someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, it was meant to be a few humorous paragraphs about Paul getting tongue tied seeing Hugh without his shirt on. I regret nothing.


	113. Sensual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I haven’t managed to use this chapter title yet?

“What,” Hugh’s voice is husky in his ear, warm breath tickling the skin, “do you want me to do to you?”

A kiss below his ear makes him shiver, and he moans softly at the gentle nip on the underside of his jaw that follows.

”Hmmm?”

Hugh’s nuzzling his throat, nosing his way closer to that spot where neck meets shoulder, and he tenses in anticipation of what comes next.

”...ohhhh. Hugh...I-“

Paul inhales sharply at the feeling of teeth scraping over skin, the careful bite setting his nerves on fire.

”What’s that, sweetheart?”

His body sings when Hugh cradles his face in his hands and they share slow, feather-light kisses, breathing the same air grown heavy with desire.

”I...you, mmmmmm.”

A quiet laugh, fond and more than a little smug, and Hugh draws back enough for Paul’s eyes to focus again. 

“Tell me.”

It’s a request masquerading as a command, his partner’s desire to fulfill every one of Paul’s fantasies just as heady now as it was years ago. All he has to do is tell him, in as little or as much detail as he likes, safe in the knowledge that he could ask for anything, and Hugh will happily provide it. 

Hugh waits with only a hint of impatience while Paul considers what he wants from him. The possibilities are boundless - to be sucked off, a game where he pretends he needs to be ‘doctored’, tying Hugh’s hands and fucking him until he begs. He’s asked for those and so many more things, things that made them laugh in delighted discovery, or mutually decide it’s a terrible idea, acts that left them sprawled together sweaty and sated. 

Tonight though, he wants closeness. 

“Sweetheart?”

Paul wraps a hand around the back of Hugh’s neck, pulling him in for a devastatingly slow kiss. When they break for air, he finds Hugh’s hands and lays down, tugging until he’s blanketed by Hugh’s warmth and weight.

”Just this.”

The smile he receives in return fills his chest with contentment.

”Okay.”

Hugh’s lips are soft, letting Paul take the lead, no trace of impatience remaining. They’re both aroused, hips rocking together, but that’s not what he’s focused on as he claims his lover’s mouth over and over. There’s no words needed, nothing but sighs and the wet sounds of lips and tongues meeting. 

After a while - it could be minutes or hours, time doesn’t matter in their bed - the kisses begin to grow hungrier. Hugh has both legs wrapped around Paul’s right leg and a hand down the back of his pajama pants, gripping the firm muscle as he grinds against his thigh. Paul’s hands roam Hugh’s bare torso, thrusting up to meet him with breathless urgency.

Closer.

Every kiss is punctuated with gasps and moans, growing less and less coordinated until they’re panting against each other’s lips. He whimpers high in his throat, wordlessly asking for _more_. Hugh answers by working his hand further back, teasing sensitive skin and just barely breaching him with a fingertip. 

He swallows Paul’s sharp cry of pleasure, hot dampness spreading between their stomachs as Paul clutches at his shoulders and shivers with the aftershocks. Thirty seconds later, Hugh stiffens and comes with a groan, face buried against Paul’s neck.

Silence, broken only by harsh breathing gradually slowing again.

Eventually, they both stir, matching looks of wry commiseration as the cooling evidence of their pleasure starts to become uncomfortable. Pajamas are thrown vaguely in the direction of the bathroom door, the covers righted and pillows stacked. Hugh ducks down to clean the last stickiness from Paul with his tongue, holding him in his mouth and sucking gently until a hand in his hair guides him back up. 

A kiss goodnight, followed by another. Hugh snuggles into Paul’s side, toes tucked under his ankles. They shift a little, bodies fitting together without conscious effort. 

One more kiss. 

Paul wraps his arms tighter around Hugh’s shoulders and smiles all the way down into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really needed sensual Culmets love tonight.


	114. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul watches Hugh sleep their very first morning together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the day Tracy comms Hugh in “Suite, Part Three” and finds him in bed with Paul (a bit later in the morning).

He opens his eyes to find the sun not yet risen and dawn barely visible on the horizon. Sleep falls away from him gently, not the harsh jolt to consciousness from his alarm or a comm notification. It's much earlier than Paul Stamets ever really likes to be awake, but he feels refreshed and languid in a way that he can't remember ever experiencing before.

He shifts to make himself more comfortable on the pillow and becomes aware of a very distinctive ache between his legs. 

_...what?_

A moment later, Paul draws in a sharp breath when the sheet rubs roughly over his chest, sending an arrow of arousal to his groin. He groans, stretching unexpectedly sore muscles as he lifts the covers to find his nipples reddened and sore and the whole of his stomach covered in scarlet love bites. 

_Apparently you had sex last night._

Paul’s never really been great at casual sex, but it’s next to impossible to find someone to make a real connection with when he’s so focused on his research. More often than not when he does decide to find someone, he’s left unsatisfied by physical chemistry and orgasms alone. For that reason, his own hand is usually the more reliable source of intimate company. It also doesn’t hold awkward conversations, make him worry about picking up any transmissible diseases, or require him to get naked in front of anyone else.

This morning is completely different. He’s not filled with self-conscious regret or disappointment at all. Instead, he feels sated (_well-used_ his brain unhelpfully supplies), his entire body relaxed without the ever-present knots in his shoulders. 

A sigh behind him makes him tense, and he freezes when an arm lands heavily over his waist and a solid body fits itself against his back. Paul holds perfectly still, but his bedmate doesn’t seem to be fully awake judging by their even breaths tickling the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

_Who?_

He looks down to see a hand the color of warm honey resting somewhat possessively on his stomach, and the memories come flooding back.

_Hugh_.

Hugh Culber, ‘Fleet doctor and lover of completely awful music, has been going on virtual dates with Paul for months. He’s never been this intellectually and physically attracted to someone before, let alone having those feelings reciprocated. Yesterday was the fourth time they’ve been able to meet up in person, and last night the hungry kisses led to increasingly more intimate touches. Hugh had pulled Paul onto his lap, marking up his throat and moaning as Paul’s hand slipped down the front of his pants. In the process of stripping off their shirts, he had discovered just how sensitive Paul’s nipples were, and proceeded to lick and suck and tease them until Paul was incoherent with pleasure and begged Hugh to take him to bed. 

It wasn’t just sex, not the first time or the second. There were a few awkward moments getting to know each other’s bodies, but what he remembers most is the look in Hugh’s eyes, the way he ran the back of his fingers over Paul’s cheek while he waited for his body to relax enough that he could move. He thinks about how it felt when Hugh got the angle just right, the kisses growing more insistent as Paul gave up trying to keep quiet, how Hugh made sure he wasn’t too sore to keep going after he came.

Paul understands now what other people mean when they talk about making love. 

He squirms around in Hugh’s loose embrace, rolling him onto his back, and can’t contain his smile or the feeling of wonder at what he sees. In sleep, Hugh’s lips are slightly parted, his expressive face gone still. There’s a hint of the smell of sex, but mostly he breathes in the woodsy spice of Hugh’s cologne and the indescribably warm scent he’s come to associate with happiness. Paul uses his thumb to wipe a wayward smudge of eyeliner off Hugh’s cheek before letting his hand come to rest on a very firm chest. Hugh’s body is a work of art, and all other things aside, Paul hopes he can work up the nerve to ask if he can rub off against Hugh’s stomach.

Paul surprises himself with the feeling of _want_ deep in his stomach when he thinks about sharing more mornings with Hugh. He imagines waking to him snuggled close, of brushing their teeth and bringing coffee back to bed so they don’t have to separate for long. Thinks about discussing science and medicine and museums before falling asleep, Hugh’s hand in his and a steady heartbeat under his ear. And yes, definitely more amazing sex, but that desire seems just as - not more or less - important as the something filling his chest right now.

Hugh stirs a little when Paul curls up against his side, letting out a quiet sigh and a barely-awake inquisitive hum.

”Shhh,” Paul whispers, nuzzling into his neck, “go back to sleep.”

Hugh’s arms tighten around him and there’s the feeling of a kiss being pressed to his temple before he falls still again. The sun is just rising and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy, body still exhausted from last night’s activities. Paul watches him sleep and dares to hope that this time, this man, the joy he’s never been able to find with anyone else, will finally be the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started out as emotional reflection, but the references to sex snuck in.
> 
> I promise I’m still working on When Sorrow Turns to Joy, and apparently I’m on a loved-up Culmets writing spree over here. You have been warned.


	115. Sorry! (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the tales of Tilly accidentally walking in on Paul and Hugh.

Tilly is sitting in front of a particularly sad cluster of _P. stellaviatori, _sleeves rolled up and a frown on her face. She’s technically been off-duty for half an hour, but really wants to find the cause before dinner. Scans show a mineral deficiency, but all of the irrigation system is working properly and the fungi to the left and right don’t appear to have been affected. She makes a few more notes, then tucks the stylus behind her ear before reaching underneath the drooping stalks. 

“Oh, gross!”

Her hand comes back smeared with bluish slime, a sure sign of parasitic bacteria - harmless to humans despite its nasty texture, but dangerous to fungi. Tilly resists the urge to wipe the gelatinous goo onto her uniform leg for fear of contaminating any other areas of the bay. Instead, she wraps her hand in a towel and heads over to the environmental controls where there’s a sink and disinfectants.

”Tilly to Stamets. It looks like a bacterial infiltration, but it’s just isolated to a few stems. I’m going to decon it, but I think we might have to clear that whole section in case it spreads.”

There’s no reply, but she’s too busy making sure she doesn’t bump into anything else with the towel to think much about it. She’ll write a proper report as soon as her hands are clean. Smiling at the thought of possibly earning some of Stamets’ rare but sincere praise, she rounds the condenser unit and blinks in surprise.

Stamets has his back to her, leaning over the environmental control console off the side of the path. It had been well clear of the forest at launch, but the fungi have grown so dense that it’s practically hidden. He’s probably engrossed in something, maybe running simulations, so she shrugs and keeps going because interrupting the Lieutenant usually isn’t a good idea.

The towel goes straight into the trash, and she vigorously scrubs the neon blue slime out from under her nails. Her skin is pink and a little raw when she’s done (because toxic or not, it’s _gross_), but her tricorder confirms that there aren’t any remaining traces. 

Whatever Stamets is up to at the console must be super important, because he’s standing in exactly the same position as five minutes ago. That’s a bit odd, considering that the irrigation system is now running and filling the air with a fine mist. The control console is located under one of the sprinkler heads, and she’s seen Stamets very fastidiously avoid the falling drops before _(“Doesn’t like his hair wet,” Harrington told Tilly conspiratorially when Stamets practically ran across the bay after a sprinkler malfunction triggered a downpour_).

“Sir, is everyth-“

Hang on.

Tilly backpedals, nearly tripping over a railing as she ducks behind the condenser before cautiously peeking out from the side.

Stamets is indeed standing in front of the console, bent forward as if studying its display. However, what she’d initially taken for the light panels to either side of the console resolve into a pair of suspiciously white and silver boots now hooked behind Stamets’ knees.

She creeps around the other side of the condenser for a different angle, and yep, that is definitely Dr. Culber sitting on the console. They’re not doing anything particularly risqué; it looks like Stamets isn’t being any more unprofessional than resting his head on the doctor’s shoulder, both hands readily visible on the surface of the console itself. 

_It’s honestly really sweet_, she thinks, watching Dr. Culber’s arms come up to wrap around Stamets’ waist, one hand rubbing his back in slow circles. For all that he’s grouchy and brusque, she’s seen a much softer side of Stamets with the doctor that she wouldn’t have believed otherwise. He’s been so run down with Lorca’s demands and constant overtime lately, and she’s happy to see him stealing a few moments for himself.

An alert beeps somewhere in the bay, and she ducks as Stamets straightens and looks around. From under the condenser, she has a clear view of Dr. Culber hopping off the console and reeling Stamets in with a hand behind his neck for a lingering kiss before swatting his hip and turning to leave. She counts to twenty after the bay doors close before poking her head back around the corner.

Stamets, hair damp but otherwise unruffled, nearly collides with her on his way up the ramp.

”Oh! I’m sorry sir, I umm wasn’t expecting- I mean, uhhh, I...”

He gives her nervous smile an odd look.

”Did you find the source of the withering?”

”What? Oh, yes, I did, I commed you but you were...busy, maybe? Not that you wouldn’t be busy sir, I just-“

“Cadet.”

”Yes, sir?”

”Are you going to tell me what you found?”

”Why- I mean, of course, sir. Definitely. It’s a bacterial contamination, but I think it’s just the one area. I was going to isolate to make sure nothing else got infected, but you ummm, you were using the console and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Stamets eyes go wide for a moment, and she does her best to look as though she didn’t accidentally see him having a mid-shift embrace with his partner.

”...ahem. Thank you, Cadet,” he forces out at last, cheeks starting to go pink, “but I think I can manage it from here. Aren’t you off duty?”

”Err. Ummm. I’m supposed to be off duty sir, yes, so I’ll just write the report and...”

He waves a hand in a vague gesture that could mean just about anything.

”Sir?”

Stamets is staring over her shoulder and avoiding eye contact.

”Get it to me in the morning.”

Tilly can read between the lines and does her best to take the opportunity without looking like she’s trying to escape.

”Okay. Umm, goodnight sir?”

She pivots and heads straight for the doors without waiting for a response, but she doesn’t think he’ll mind. Once safely in the turbolift, she exhales and leans heavily on the wall. 

“Check the bay for other occupants _before_ you go in off shift,” Tilly mutters to herself, hating the thought of interrupting that quiet intimacy Stamets and Dr. Culber seem to share when no one else is looking.

_They deserve it._


	116. Soporific

Hugh is on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, PADD in one hand and stylus in the other when Paul finally gets home.

”Sorry,” is the first word out of his partner’s mouth as he approaches, “I-“

He’s within reach, so Hugh drops the stylus and tugs his wrist until he leans down enough for a kiss.

”It’s fine, babe.”

”I don’t deserve you.”

Hugh kisses him on the forehead.

”Go get cleaned up, you smell like dirt.”

”Sor-“

”Shoo.”

He sends Paul towards the bathroom with a gentle swat to the ass, retrieving the stylus and continuing to annotate patient files. When Paul emerges pajama-clad a little while later, he picks up his own PADD and sits down next to Hugh with a tired sigh.

”Bed?”

”No, I’ve got...” he gestures vaguely at the equations on the screen.

”Okay.”

Hugh’s done making notes, so he wraps that arm around Paul’s shoulders instead, nuzzling into his cheek absently. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Paul drops his head to Hugh’s chest, still reading, sliding lower slowly. Eventually, he rearranges himself to lie on his side, head pillowed on Hugh’s thigh, while he mumbles to himself and scrolls through data.

”You’re going to fall asleep like that.”

”No I’m not.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, Hugh runs his fingers through Paul’s damp hair and keeps reading, scratching gently.

”I traded with Aisha, so I’m not on till beta tomorrow.”

”...mmm?”

”Thought we could sleep in.”

Paul’s facing away, but he can hear the smile in his voice.

”Really? You’re not abandoning me to go running?”

”Long as you promise not to run off to your lab.”

There’s a mild reproach in his tone, but it’s still mostly teasing.

”I can’t be sur-“

”I know, babe,” he sighs, “just being cranky.”

Paul makes a conciliatory noise, squeezing Hugh’s knee before they lapse back into silence.

Just after 2345, Paul’s occasional continued muttering ceases and Hugh is pulled out of the report he’s reading when the PADD, previously propped on his thigh, slips down to land on the couch cushions.

“Sweetheart?”

He's not really expecting a response, but Paul rouses himself enough to wrap his now-empty hands around Hugh’s leg.

”Nope. You are not sleeping here, because I want to enjoy the morning, not spend it rubbing out your back.”

Grumbling, Paul heaves himself over to face Hugh.

”What if I ask really nicely?”

“Nope. Come on sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”

It’s a slow process, but eventually Paul climbs to his feet and shuffles towards the bathroom. Hugh collects both of their PADDs, depositing them on their respective nightstands before joining him. He keeps an eye on Paul while brushing their teeth, making sure he doesn’t nod off standing up, and turns out the lights once they’re both under the covers.

Paul tugs Hugh’s hand, making displeased noises until he’s spooned up close behind. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re demanding?” 

”You,” Paul yawns, “all the time.”

Smiling, Hugh adjusts his arm until he can rest his hand on Paul’s chest. He kisses the back of his neck, nosing into his hair and sighing.

”Night sweetheart.”

”Mmmm. Night. Love you.”

”Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up with a need to write sleepy, sweet domestic Culmets.


	117. Sick

“Hugh? I’m back, are you awake?”

Paul peers into the darkness of their quarters, listening intently. He sheds his boots and jacket almost immediately, noticing that the temperature has been turned up several degrees and ambient humidity raised. There’s the sound of labored breathing as he approaches the bed, and he taps the screen on his PADD. The glow is just enough to illuminate the Hugh-shaped mound of covers, and he sighs before turning to the bathroom. 

Closing the door, he orders the lights to a quarter of their usual brightness and surveys the scene. Hugh must have showered earlier, judging by the wet towel in the middle of the floor, and it looks like he at least managed to brush his teeth. Still concerned, Paul takes a quick shower and dresses for bed in a t-shirt and loose boxers instead of his usual pajamas. The balmy atmosphere that’s soothing Hugh’s sore throat and lungs has him sweating already, but he can handle low level discomfort for a night.

He fills a glass with water before turning off the light and opening the door again. Hugh hasn’t moved, although Paul can tell he’s awake by the general sense of misery being projected from underneath the duvet. The water goes onto Hugh’s nightstand next to a pile of used tissues _(“Hugh, you’re a doctor! That can’t possibly be sanitary.” “You’ve already been exposed to all of my microbiome, and you gave it to me so no, it’s perfectly fine.“), _and he lays down on top of the covers on his side, doing his best not to jostle the mattress. The pitiful-sounding groan it evokes is a sign his efforts were unsuccessful, and he frowns.

”Sorry,” he murmurs into the heavy air.

”Hmmmm.”

Hugh’s monosyllabic response suggests he accepts the apology.

”Feeling any better?”

”Mmmuhhh.”

Sighing, Paul lets his eyes adjust until he can locate Hugh’s head on the pillow, laying a gentle hand on his forehead. He’s still sweating profusely, but it feels like the fever has come down from this morning.

”Is there anything I can get you?”

The answer is probably no, but he asks anyway. Even in the twenty-third century, things like influenza are still best treated by rest if there’s no immediate danger. Hugh seems to have passed the worst of it after waking up yesterday with a sore throat and chills. Paul had been reluctant to leave him, but Tracy assured him that Hugh would be fine, so he’d left a carafe of water and a cup of orange juice on the nightstand and gone on shift. Both containers are now empty, which allays some of his concern.

”Nuh uhh.”

The old saying about doctors making the worst patients doesn’t hold true with Hugh, for which he’s thankful because Paul’s already worried enough that he doesn’t think he could handle if Hugh wasn’t willing to take his own advice and stay off his feet.

”Thirsty? Hungry?”

Hugh shakes his head, then seems to regret it, squeezing his eyes shut again. He shifts, freeing a hand from his refuge for Paul to take.

”You.”

”What?”

The hand tugs weakly but insistently.

”Want-“ Hugh breaks off to cough, “you.”

Ahh.

”Skin still hurt? Or can I touch you now.”

Sick or not, Hugh’s annoyed look is the same.

”All right,” Paul sighs, moving as close as he dares and letting Hugh decide what he wants.

They end up on their sides facing each other, sharing the pillow with hands loosely clasped between their chests. Hugh’s joints must still ache because he doesn’t squeeze any closer despite the body language suggesting he wants to be held.

“Comfy?”

”Mmmhhh.”

”Take that as a yes.”

Paul leans forward enough to press a kiss to Hugh’s feverish cheek, ignoring the smell of sweat and the honey-lemon lozenges Hugh’s been sucking on. He waits patiently until Hugh’s eyes close again before exhaling a long sigh. 

“Nnngghhh?”

Apparently his partner isn’t as asleep as Paul thought.

”I hate when you’re sick. It makes me feel...there’s nothing I can do and I hate that.”

One eye opens and Hugh pulls Paul’s hands closer, not so much holding them in his own as tucking them against his body.

”Hmmmphh.”

“I love you too.”

Eventually, his breathing slows with sleep, although Paul still cringes at the wet rasp of it. He briefly contemplates climbing under the covers to be able to hold Hugh properly, but decides it’s probably best for them both if he doesn’t until he’s sure it won’t cause him any pain. He hopes Hugh will be feeling a little better in the morning for everyone’s sake. Seeing him miserable makes Paul snappish and prone to over-solicitous care, which is probably one of the reasons Hugh insisted on him going on shift as usual. 

He’s not particularly tired now, but the way Hugh’s clinging to his hands, he would definitely wake up if Paul tried to reach for his PADD to catch up on work. Instead, Paul takes one more look to check that Hugh is resting as peacefully as possible before closing his own eyes and concentrating on the rhythm of Hugh’s pulse under his fingers. It’s strong and steady, and he counts heartbeats in groups of twelve until his own matches it. In the morning he’ll fuss again, but for now he’s content to watch over his love while he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully no one is getting tired of Paul and Hugh in bed, because there's plenty more where this came from.


	118. Separation (Is Not An Option)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion, pre-Discovery.

"Hmmmm."

Hugh shivers as Paul hums against his neck, smiling up at the ceiling. 

"Feeling good, sweetheart?"

"Mmmhmmm."

Paul works his hands between Hugh's back and the sheets beneath them, hugging him close. Hugh's smile turns into a grin, tilting his head to the side for Paul to nuzzle closer, enjoying the rasp of near-invisible stubble catching on the tender skin.

"I'm so glad you're here."

Instead of replying verbally, his partner noses his shirt collar out of the way and starts licking over his pulse. Hugh squirms a little, slipping a hand up under Paul's own shirt, caressing his lower back and breathing him in while burying the fingers of his other hand in Paul's hair.

"Missed you so much," Paul murmurs, "missed you."

Gel crunches under his fingers as he teases the strands apart, kissing the patch of grey hair at his temple. Paul sighs, their bare feet rubbing together as they try to get even closer.

"You know, if you want, we could get undressed and have sex."

"We'd have to move."

"True."

Paul pauses, pulling back from Hugh's neck until they can look each other in the eyes.

"Do you want to?"

"I always want to, sweetheart," Hugh punctuates the sentence with a lingering kiss, "but I'm happy with whatever you want to do."

"Mmmm."

Thick blond eyelashes flutter as Hugh kneads the muscles to either side of his spine, tension from the sixteen-hour shuttle trip slowly dissipating.

"Hmmm?"

"You expect me to be able to think when you're doing that?"

"Don't know what you're talking about- hey!"

He glares in mock affront as Paul nips the end of his nose, but can't hold the frown for long at the sight and feeling of Paul in his arms. Paul's head drops back to his shoulder, resuming the slow mapping of Hugh's throat with his lips.

"Cuddles now. Sex later. Does that meet with your approval, dear doctor?"

Hugh wraps his legs around Paul's thighs, squeezing briefly, before tangling their ankles together again.

"Always."

" 'Mkay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clothed cuddling is still awesome.


	119. Suspicious

Tracy mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath as the card reader on the room door returns an error. 

“Twenty third century, we can travel at warp but hotels still can’t install readers that work... ahh!”

The door beeps at her before sliding open. She steps over the threshold and into the mostly-dark room cautiously, unsure what she might find on the other side.

”Morning Trace,” Hugh greets her from the bed closest to the far wall, “back early?”

She breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s half-sitting propped up on a pile of pillows, the duvet a rumpled mess and a PADD in hand, and most importantly, still clothed. 

Tracy’s never minded sharing a room with him at conferences and the like, but Paul managed to get leave at the last minute and joined them last night. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem - Hugh would have gotten another room and Tracy wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally walking in on the two of them getting reacquainted. Unfortunately, there’s also a major ambassadorial function going on in the city center and not a single open room available. 

_(”Sorry Tracy,” Paul has the grace to look abashed, “I really didn’t think I was going to be able to get here.”_

_He also looks exhausted, travel-worn and clutching the straps of his duffel.   
_

_“Just stay here,” she suggests, watching Hugh tapping furiously on his PADD._

_“What?”_

_Hugh’s finger halts in midair, glancing over at her in surprise._

_”There’s two beds, just do me a favor and wait to have your reunion sex until after I’m gone in the morning. Please.”_

_“I’m about to pass out anyway,” Paul smiles gratefully, dropping the bag at the foot of Hugh’s bed, “okay if I shower?”_

_”No, you have to sleep smelling like shuttle fuel.”_

_Hugh watches Paul make his way into the bathroom with a look of yearning._

_”Thanks, Trace.”_

_”I mean it on the sex, if I have to listen to you two again-“_

_”Promise.”)_

True to their word, while there was clearly a lot of snuggling going on in the other bed once the lights were out, the only noises were whispers and kissing. Tracy couldn’t exactly begrudge them that. 

This morning, they were both still asleep when she got up at 0600 to attend one of the pre-conference sessions, shaking her head fondly at the sight of them spooned together with Paul’s hand under Hugh’s shirt. She’d headed down to the conference floor, intending to return no earlier than 0930. Hugh’s alarm was set for 0700, and she figured that would leave plenty of time for the two of them to do whatever they wanted, shower, _and_ air out the room before she got back.

Instead, a failure in the environmental controls in the ballrooms at 0745 meant no one could sit through a lecture at 40C. Tracy had sent Hugh a message warning him of her imminent arrival, then slowly made her way back up to the blessedly air conditioned guest floors.

“Morning.”

Unzipping her jacket, she sits down on the side of her bed, wiping sweat off the back of her neck.

”Felt like a jungle in there,” she offers with a groan, “the Vulcans were fine but no one else wanted to tough it out.”

”Ahhh.”

Hugh still looks half-asleep, eyes unfocused.

”Where’s Paul?” Tracy tugs off one boot, “He already go down to eat?”

”Hmmm? Oh. Yes. He went down. For umm, breakfast.”

“Surprised you two weren’t in the middle of causing a noise complaint.”

He laughs quietly, shifting against the pillows.

”No, not at this hour.”

“Should we join him? Could use another ten cups of coffee before we sit through the panels.”

”Mmm.”

His eyes have drifted closed, and he’s...smiling? The prospect of hours of mind-numbing presentations usually isn’t something that makes him happy.

Tracy pauses with her second boot half unzipped and narrows her eyes, giving Hugh a much closer look. For being drowsy, he’s got an awfully tight grip on his PADD. And while he’s definitely wearing a shirt, there’s also a sheen of sweat on his skin that shouldn’t be present with the ambient temperature. Hugh has both knees pulled up, but there’s no way the fluffy duvet should be piled that high by itself.

_Seriously?_

She can’t decide whether to laugh or roll her eyes. 

“Hugh?”

”...what?”

”Tell me again where Paul is?”

His eyes fly open, and she suppresses a smile.

”Uhh. Like you said, he went down.”

_That’s a terrible pun._

“I see.”

Pushing herself to her feet, she kicks off the second boot and reaches for her own PADD. Hugh’s eyes track her movements as she leisurely scrolls through the conference schedule. In her peripheral vision, she can see him biting his lip, and decides that he’s probably suffered enough.

Setting her PADD back on the nightstand, Tracy stretches and oh-so-casually plops down on the end of his bed.

“Wait- Trace, don’t, no-“

“...mmmppHhHwhatthehell?!”

The muffled voice and flailing limbs under where she’s sprawled are too much, and she rolls off the bed and onto the floor laughing. When she looks up, it’s to find a very rumpled Paul glaring down at her as Hugh yanks the sheet over his waist. Tracy grabs a fallen pillow and lobs it at him, snickering helplessly as Paul splutters and bats it away.

It takes a minute before she can sit up, surveying the scene. Hugh has the covers pulled up over his head, and Paul is still scowling at her, pink-cheeked with his hair standing up in all directions.

”You two had that coming,” she informs him, “seriously?”

”I almost bit Hugh- hey!”

There’s another flurry of motion as Hugh emerges from under the duvet and swats Paul with a pillow.

“You weren’t supposed to be back for at least another hour,” Paul grumbles, crossing his arms and...

_Yes, he’s pouting._

She climbs to her feet, sitting down much more gracefully on her own bed again.

“Fair enough, but I did tell Hugh I was coming back up.”

There’s the sound of rustling fabric as Hugh squirms back into his pants under the covers before kicking them off. He stands, tugging on Paul’s wrist.

“I’m taking a shower.”

Tracy can’t resist.

”You need him to do that?” 

He stops, embarrassment falling away into a smirk.

”I definitely do. Hope you don’t need the bathroom for the next ten minutes.”

”Oh go ahead,” she waves them off, “I think it has soundproofing.”

”Twenty minutes.”

”Planning to work up an appetite?”

“Yes.”

”Save some room for breakfast,” Tracy tosses at their retreating backs, “actual food.”

The only response is the bathroom door sliding shut. Still laughing quietly, she flicks on the holoscreen and turns the volume up just in case.

“We have got to get you posted together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not saying Paul was actively up to anything naughty under the covers, but I’m not saying he wasn’t either...
> 
> I feel written-out after the rush to get When Sorrow Turns to Joy updated, so this one isn’t quite as smooth as I’d like, but hoping you’ll still enjoy it :)


	120. Spell It / Sneak, Part Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 2 ***

*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 2 ***  
  


*  
*  
*  
*

“I’ll let you go to work if you can spell ‘my partner brought me out of a coma and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.’ “

Hugh’s face keeps blurring in and out of focus, but his voice - that beloved voice, full of sarcasm that’s a thin cover for his physician’s adrenaline - is clear in Paul’s ear.

“Spell it.”

The next few minutes drip out of his mind like melting ice. 

“s-y-t-s-h-i-r-t.”

”T-shirt has a hyphen.”

Hugh’s hands are gentle, stroking his face and smoothing his hair back.

”Oww!” the hypospray pinches, “...are you punishing me?”

His ears are ringing, but he’s _alive_ and Hugh is here, and-

“Yes. And, I love you.”

Paul’s head is still swimming, but Hugh’s face comes into sharp focus as his lips press against Paul’s and linger.

”It’s good to have you back.”

Hugh’s smile makes all of the throbbing in his brain vanish. 

Or maybe that’s the neuro blocker.

”It’s good to have you alive.”

The hum of the regenerator starts, but Paul’s not listening anymore.

_He loves me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally screamed at the Culmets. This is the content we’ve been waiting a year for!
> 
> Happy birthday to me :)


	121. Stabilized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy’s perspective of Hugh waking Paul up on “Far From Home”.

Tracy’s keeping an eye on three patients, moving between neural reconstruction on a head injury, internal bleeding, and a broken pelvis. The walking wounded are starting to stream in to the medbay, along with a fresh wave of serious injuries from Discovery’s rough landing. Luckily, the restraining fields were still active on the biobeds; there’s nowhere near enough spare hands to bodily secure all of the critical patients while preventing new injuries to those doing the healing. The medical staff ended up with an assortment of minor cuts, contusions, and whiplash, but on the whole it could have been a whole lot worse. She’s got a bruised elbow of her own that doesn’t rise to the level of wasting a regen on, and hopes the surprises are at least over for now.

At the moment, they’re moving any patients who are stable enough to be semi-mobile down to Med Two or at least the corridor. Aisha’s busy running concussion tests outside the doorway, and she’s borrowed a couple of techs to help people limp out. As for Hugh-

She spares a moment for a genuine smile as Hugh efficiently brings Paul out of a coma, thumb stroking his temple gently, as he snarks at him even as his eyes soften. Tracy looks away for a minute to focus on a delicate realignment, and when she glances over again, he’s helping Paul to sit up. Paul’s injury really isn’t fully healed by any means; he’s going to need hours of regeneration to finish healing the wound and his cardiac tissue is fragile. Walking slowly should be okay, but it’s a long way across the corridor at the rate he's hobbling. Hugh’s far too professional to devote more time to Paul in neglect of others, so it’s not a surprise when he stops them and simply picks Paul up, crossing the deck in long strides.

_They’re going to be okay_, she thinks, hopes, as Paul’s cheek comes to rest on Hugh’s shoulder, _the universe owes them that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in a slightly different version of Paul’s recovery? Check out “When Sorrow Turns to Joy” which contains slower timing because it was written before Season 3 started airing.


	122. Sneak, Part One

Paul hadn’t woken up that morning - however long ago it was - planning to need Hugh to rescue him twice. By the afternoon, he was reeling with the knowledge that Hugh was planning to transfer to Enterprise. And just before dinner time (choking down a protein bar while preparing to battle a murderous AI for the fate of all sentient life), he makes the decision to stay with Michael on her journey to the future, thinking that nine hundred years just might be enough for his broken heart to start going numb.

Instead, it’s Hugh’s face he sees as he’s bleeding out on a biobed, his voice calmly talking Paul down into a coma with words of reassurance. And it’s Hugh’s touch that brings him out of that twilight state, his fingers tenderly stroking Paul’s temple, his lips warm and soft even as he’s declaring his love and admonishing Paul to stay put.

All of which is why Paul feels incredibly guilty sneaking out of the cellular regeneration chamber after just one cycle. It’s not technically disobeying Hugh’s medical advice, but the painful ache in his chest reminds him that he really shouldn’t be on his feet. Hugh is occupied in the medbay when he snatches a sheet off a cart - racing shirtless through Discovery’s corridors even in the middle of an emergency is still too much attention - and briskly walks back to his quarters. 

He manages to pull on a clean uniform, gritting his teeth as the jacket constricts the raw scar, and locate a set of tools in Engineering before the neuro blocker wears off. His better judgment tells him he ought to go back to the medbay for more pain medication, but if he does it’s just as likely that Hugh will stuff him back into the regeneration chamber and he doesn’t, _Discovery_ doesn’t, have time for that. Instead, he bites his cheek and continues to move around the bay, scanning for the blown relay and wincing as every step jars his bruised ribs. Reno isn’t helping either; assembling the mental wherewithal to respond to her constant poking means he has a whole lot less willpower to control the pain.

Her compassion for his sense of helplessness isn’t lost on him at all, when her sharp eyes fill with understanding. It’s too much, because if he gives in he doesn’t think he can stay standing. Climbing into a Jefferies Tube to escape it isn’t at the top of the list of Most Intelligent and Terrifying Things Paul Stamets Has Ever Done by a long shot (number one is asking Hugh to be his partner, and number two is injecting himself with tardigrade DNA). Of course Reno being Reno, she continues to harass him as he follows her drone through the curving junctions and deeper into the conduit system. She’s clearly deriving perverse pleasure in tormenting him, and he’s just rolling his eyes as she tries to involve Nilsson in her glee when the conduit on his left side explodes.

Paul’s already intimately familiar with the damage caused by shrapnel, which means he knows the blood leaking out of his abdomen isn’t enough to kill him, but it’s more than sufficient to put him in further agony. He knows he’s hyperventilating, moaning as Reno tries to get him moving again. His ears are ringing and the Jefferies Tube is starting to grey out around the edges when Hugh’s voice fills the air. Hugh sounds about as far from pleased as possible, and Paul doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s earned himself one of Hugh’s angry-because-you-scared-me lectures when this is all over.

On the other hand? Hugh being here and caring enough to be that angry shouldn’t be as reassuring as it actually is.

When the power’s restored, he collapses onto his stomach, cheek pressed to the cool metal of the tube. Reno’s drone makes an about face and zooms off back the way he came, which can only mean one thing: Reno’s going to use it to guide Hugh up to him.

_You are so in for it this time._

Three minutes later, he can hear the buzz of the drone returning, accompanied by the sounds of Hugh Culber’s irate muttering growing louder as he approaches.

“...I’m a doctor, not an engineer, why am I climbing up here? Because my partner can’t keep himself from nearly getting killed every five minutes, that’s why. This time, I’m going to tie him to the bed so he _stays, _because if I have to go chasing after him again-“

”You can do whatever you want to me, I won’t object.”

He’s facedown and addressing the bottom of the tube, but it must be clear enough because Hugh heaves an enormous sigh just as a warm hand grips his knee. It’s followed by the sound of him activating a scanner, and the drone moves to hover over Paul’s body for better lighting.

Paul wouldn’t put it past Reno to have angled the lights to shine right in his eyes.

Thirty seconds later, Hugh snaps the scanner back into the holster on his hip and crawls up alongside him. His wound is clearly not anything too serious judging by the way Hugh hauls him over onto his back with more force than strictly necessary, although he does cushion Paul’s head with his hand so it doesn’t bounce off the metal floor. He unzips Paul’s jacket briskly, pulls up his undershirt, and slaps a field dressing onto the sluggishly bleeding gash.

”Thanks Jett,” he addresses the drone, “should be good from here.”

”Oh no, I’m staying to watch this,” Reno’s voice is far too gleeful, “Crankypants has this coming for being an idiot and I intend to savor every moment.”

”Don't say I didn’t warn you,” Hugh singsongs.

”Hugh, I- mmmpphhhh.”

Eyes still screwed shut with pain, he doesn’t see Hugh lean down, but the kiss he gives Paul is enough to silence any protest. The one back in the medbay had been chaste and tender, an affirmation of love. This, on the other hand, is so completely filthy that Paul can’t do anything but melt under the way Hugh masterfully _owns_ his mouth, tongue thrusting between his lips in approximation of something that he hasn’t done since the last time he shared his bed with this man. Neither of their mouths is terribly fresh at this point, but it doesn’t matter as Hugh’s fingers pull his hair and his beard rubs Paul’s chin raw.

”Oh, gross,” Reno’s words bely the poorly-concealed delight in her tone, “I did not sign up for this kind of free show. Doc, you’re on your own dragging loverboy out.”

Without waiting for a response, the drone zips off down the tube, leaving them bathed in just the cool blue light of the conduit walls. Hugh doesn’t end the kiss right away though, just slowly eases back until they’re sharing sweet, gentle pecks again.

“I’m sorry,” Paul mutters.

A hypospray hisses against his neck with only the slightest of pinches, and a wave of cool relief spreads down his spine. Hugh sighs, fingers loosening their grip and cradling Paul’s face between his palms.

”Don’t think this means I’m not still furious with you.”

He opens his eyes to find Hugh watching him with a mix of resigned exasperation and relief, although it doesn’t quite hide the concern.

”I’m pretty sure I deserve it at this point.”

”That’s debatable, but can you please at least give me a day to recover before you go throwing yourself in front of anything explosive again?”

There’s a brittle sort of exhaustion in Hugh’s dark eyes, and Paul raises a hand to caress his cheek.

”I’ll do my best.”

”All I can ask for.”

** _Clang_ **

They both startle at the noise as the drone deposits a small antigrav cargo carrier at Hugh’s feet. It lays there awkwardly for a few seconds before the antigrav pops up to hover two inches off the tube floor.

”You’re welcome.” 

The drone is gone again before either of them can say thank you, and Hugh chuckles as he slowly guides the platform under Paul’s back.

”Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

”Do I have to-“

”...and you’re going right back into the regen again. Don’t think I won’t sit on you to keep you there.”

”You do realize that isn’t an incentive to comply?”

Hugh smiles down at him.

“I missed this.”

”I missed you.”

One more kiss, and Paul sighs, closing his eyes again. Today hadn’t gone to plan at all, and he’s completely okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Reno’s interplay is some of the best dialogue out of this episode :)
> 
> Hugh’s mix of snark and sweetness slays me every time.


	123. Sneak, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where was Hugh during the transporter platform reunion? Continues from the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 3****

Hugh's waiting just outside the doors of the transporter room when Paul exits, hypospray in hand, snagging his elbow in an unyielding but careful grip. 

"Doctor Culber!"

Paul expects Hugh to let go of him to accept Michael's embrace, but he merely takes a step away from Paul and gives her a one-armed hug, other arm still extended like an old-fashioned EV tether. The rest of the bridge crew hustle Michael off down the corridor, laughing and crying a little and all trying to talk to her at once. Left alone, Hugh leans back against the wall and waits. Paul stares at his boots rather sheepishly, can feel Hugh's eyes on him. The ache in his chest is no longer something he can ignore, and he tries to concentrate on breathing evenly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "how mad at me are you?"

A sigh.

Hugh seems to be waiting for him to look up, and eventually Paul screws up his courage and does so. He's managed to change into a fresh uniform, blood no longer spotting his sleeve cuffs and trousers, but there's an air of deep weariness in the way Hugh's shoulders slump and the frown lines bracketing his mouth.

"I'm not mad at you."

"...what?"

Seemingly satisfied that Paul isn't going to try to escape, Hugh releases his elbow and gently nudges him into an observation alcove, away from a casual glance down the corridor. There's far fewer crew to worry about, but old and somewat rusty habits apparently are hard to break. He's honestly a little surprised that he's not being whisked back to the regen chamber, less than half an additional cycle complete when the call came down from the bridge that Michael was beaming aboard. Once Paul's seated on the shallow ledge below the port, Hugh reaches down and unsnaps his collar, administering the contents of the hypo quickly. It doesn't pinch the way it did when Paul was under the regen, and he's always been fascinated by the way a ship's doctor could communicate their displeasure with a recalcitrant patient through the judicious use of microneedles. That's a thought for another time though, because whatever analgesic Hugh gave him isn't strong enough to take away all of the pain. It does bring it down to manageable levels, but given that his pain scale now has an upper range of "deep puncture wound to the gut" and "seven inches of shrapnel in my heart", it's probably fair to assume he's going to be in discomfort for a while longer.

The headiness of waking from his coma to find Hugh waiting, his competent hands touching him tenderly as they exchanged the kind of back-and-forth he thought lost forever in an ensuing millennium, is starting to wear off, leaving him wondering just how fragile a floor they're both actually standing on. Hugh had declared his love, sealed it with a thorough kiss, and Paul doesn't have any reason to doubt his sincerity. If he's learned anything though, in losing the love of his life twice, it's that love isn't necessarily enough when they come down off their adrenaline. A tendril of fear wraps itself around his stomach, creeping icy and sharp up his spine.

"Hugh?"

Another sigh, then Hugh drops to crouch in front of him until their faces are level. He sways a little, and Paul reaches out automatically to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. Hugh's face is unreadable as he lifts Paul's hand away, and Paul can't breathe at all until Hugh carefully folds it between his own palms.

"I'm not mad at you, Paul. I'm just-" he bites his lower lip, "you scared me. I almost...you coded on me during surgery. Twice."

The snark and deliberate sarcasm he'd used to mask his own emotions are nowhere in sight now, and though he longs for their familiar presence, he knows that being allowed to see the raw core of fear means so much more.

"I-"

A crew member passes by the alcove at a jog, carrying an armful of equipment. This conversation really does need to happen, but this isn't the place to have it. Frowning, he stands, unsuccessfully suppressing the wince when it pulls a barely-healed wound. He tugs Hugh to his feet, ready to balance him if he needs it. Once Hugh's standing, Paul doesn't release his hand, just squeezes his fingers and leads him out of their hiding place and to the nearest turbolift. It's a sign of Hugh's exhaustion that he doesn't ask where they're going, merely follows a half-step behind. In fact, it's not until Paul pauses to allow the door sensors to acknowledge his readings that he seems to realize where they are.

"Paul..."

The doors to his quarters swish shut behind them. He hasn't had Hugh in here in weeks. Not since they... not since.

"Help?"

The request surprises Hugh into giving Paul his full attention, and he brushes Paul's fingers aside to deftly unzip his jacket and ease the fabric from his shoulders. The compression bandage wound tight around his midsection over his blue undershirt is stained crimson, and for a moment all weariness seems to vanish as Doctor Culber snaps open his scanner and carefully checks for additional injury. He seems satisfied though, re-holstering the scanner and guiding Paul to sit on the couch. There's only a little hesitation before he sits down as well, farther away than Paul would like but much closer than he has in a long time. Paul takes his hand again, telegraphing the movement so that Hugh can avoid it if he wants. Instead, he meets Paul halfway, scoots towards him just a little more until their knees are touching.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

Hugh unsnaps his own collar with his free hand, staring into the middle distance for a moment. When he refocuses on Paul, it's with a very slight smile. Mostly, he just looks tired.

"I know."

They stare at each other for the space of a few more breaths before Hugh speaks again.

"There's a lot of things we should talk about, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I do love you, Paul. And if you'll have me back, I...I don't expect it to be right away. But I want to try this again, properly."

He thinks he knows what Hugh means, but he dare not assume.

"This?"

Hugh takes his other hand as well, not holding it, simply resting their palms together.

"You. Me. Us. If...if that's what you want."

This uncertainty is something he rarely ever witnessed in his partner before his death, but seen all too frequently since his return. He's not sure if it's going to be a permanent part of Hugh, something changed that he'll have to learn and adjust to, or is more a matter of the circumstances. To be given the chance to relearn him though, is a gift beyond measure.

"There's nothing I want more," Paul blinks, eyes stinging, "nothing in the universe."

"We-"

** _"All personnel, this is Commander Saru. All critical systems are operating within normal parameters, thanks to your quick work on repairs and our rescue from the planet's surface. Commander Burnham will be briefing the senior staff on our current time and location in one hour, and I will provide an update at that_ _ time. Please see to yourselves, and return to your stations in forty-five minutes."_**

"Does Tracy need you back in the medbay?"

He shakes his head.

"No, or at least not for a little while."

Paul nods, slowly leaning back against the cushions and making himself more comfortable.

"Will you stay, then? I don't mean you have to move back in right away," he hastens to add at Hugh's frown, "not unless you want to or are ready. I'd just...if it's okay, I'd like to hold you. Please."

A few seconds pass, but the delay seems to be more about Hugh's tired mind processing the question than a reluctance to answer. Then, his lips stretch into a smile. It's not quite the brilliant grin that stole Paul's heart, but it's more than he could have hoped for when he woke up this morning.

"I'd like that."

Hugh stands and together they maneuver Paul's legs up onto the couch, back supported by the arm. As he watches, Hugh finishes unzipping his own jacket, folding it onto the coffee table before he carefully fits himself against Paul's side. There's an awkward moment as they sort out elbows and knees, Hugh trying to keep his weight off the left side of Paul's chest, but between one blink and the next everything falls into place. Paul's arm settles around Hugh's waist, sighing in deep contentment as Hugh's head comes to rest on his shoulder. Hugh's skin is warm under his hands, bare arms flexing as he strokes the fabric over Paul's heart, and he concentrates on the steady heartbeat against his side. 

They sit in comfortable silence, breathing slowing and tension slowly draining from their bodies, occasionally exchanging light kisses but mostly simply _being_. Hugh's scent surrounds him, and Paul has a vague thought about being marked with it as Hugh rubs his cheek against Paul's neck.

"Hugh?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm always disappointed when I don't see Wilson's name in the credits, and honestly, there's no way Paul goes from collapsed bleeding in a Jefferies Tube to 100% in presumably a very short amount of time.


	124. S.O.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy and Hugh have had each other's back for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the last breakup Hugh has before he meets Paul.

**June 2241**

Hugh starts the week determined to be happy, stepping off the transporter pad at Starfleet Medical and turning in his field kit before heading back to his apartment for a shower. He's intent on surprising his lover with a romantic evening, something to make up for the last three months while he was on a Vulcan medical mission to the Tiburon colony. It's not ideal to be apart for that long, but in this case the adage about distance making the heart grow fonder is accurate. 

In the week before he shipped out, they'd had what didn't quite rise to the level of a fight, but it had left him feeling supremely unsettled. Sure, he understood working late and being called in at short notice, but it always seemed to happen when Hugh had an evening off to spend together and he couldn't help snapping at yet another 2300 "emergency" at the fleet yard. He'd ended up apologizing to him when he saw how much his level of suspicion had hurt, and by the time his shuttle docked with the Vulcan transport, had convinced himself that it was mostly in his head and probably a product of three years spent getting used to each other. Of course the same spark wouldn't be present, and time away would help reset his emotions.

The medical mission was a success. They'd managed to control the Rigellian fever outbreak by the end of the second month, far ahead of the most optimistic projections, and the last month was spent ensuring the critical cases made it out of the ICU and that the overworked local medical staff were able to recover. His old friend from Medical, T'Vala, was also on the mission, and he'd enjoyed her steadiness and wry wit just as much as ever. Spending that much time surrounded by calm Vulcan competency was restorative, and T'Vala even managed to teach Hugh a few new meditation techniques. He hasn't commed ahead, reasoning that he'll have plenty of time to explain arriving home a month ahead of schedule after dinner, and eager to re-connect. 

Instead, that hope turns into bitter hurt when he literally walks in on the man who claimed to love him in bed with a married coworker. Everything crumbles in a matter of seconds as he stands there in shock while the other man leisurely dresses and makes himself comfortable in the living room. Finally seeing incontrovertible proof with his own eyes that the suspicions he'd been justifying away for months were valid isn't even the worst part. The person he thought he knew isn't apologetic in the least; he's angry, twisting it into Hugh's fault that he was incapable of being faithful and driving him to it. Hugh's late nights in the trauma ward suddenly turn into accusations of infidelity on his part, as if even that would justify betrayal on this level. Incredulous and enraged, he does the only thing he can think of: he screams, "Get the fuck out of my life!" and storms out past the man on the couch who doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest.

He runs the two miles back home, chest burning with unshed tears. His mind spins in circles as he stumbles over curbs, and it takes four tries to enter the code for his building because his hands are shaking so hard. 

_ How could he? All this time? How long has this been happening? _

Hugh knows he isn't going to be any good in the clinic tomorrow, much less for any trauma cases coming in. He types out a request to take a week’s leave for personal reasons, horribly grateful when his request is acknowledged and immediately granted. Chest growing tighter, he manages to send one more message.

_ [Culber-Hugh-LT/MED] SOS _

His PADD chirps a reply fifteen minutes later even though he's in no shape to read it.

_ [Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] Hold on. I'm coming. _

Breaking down isn't pretty in the slightest, shock and numbness wearing off as the first tear splashes onto his collar, and the next fifty hours pass in a blur that feels like millennia. 

Tracy arrives late on the evening of the second day after his SOS, letting herself into his apartment without ceremony. She doesn't say anything at the sight of him huddled on the couch in the dark, just orders the lights to half and physically pulls him off the couch, shoving him towards the shower without a word. By the time he emerges on wobbly legs twenty minutes later, the room is filled with savory smells that remind him of the dull ache of hunger pangs in his stomach. Tracy doesn't pause in laying out food from the local Jewish deli, handing him a fork and sitting across from him at his tiny dining table. In fact, she doesn't bring up the reason she's there at all, instead complaining about the quality of the shuttle she took back to Earth and the incompetence of her latest batch of interns. Over potato pancakes, she shares a story about a Commander who managed to fracture his leg in three places by mistaking a holographic panel for a solid railing, then gives her opinion on the size of the medbay on Constitution-class ships. By the time they've finished the corned beef and she's forced him to down his third glass of water, he almost feels human again. 

It's a fragile and temporary reprieve, and lasts only until he's done brushing his teeth. The story comes out in bits and pieces as he paces the length of his apartment, stringing together everything. Things he should have seen - did see, but chose to ignore - pile up as the words tumble out, reminding him that he could and should have left sooner. It's telling that he's less upset at what his ex has said and done than he is at himself for not being stronger and believing his own instincts. He's too disgusted with the whole situation to cry, but he leans heavily on Tracy’s shoulder while she alternates between rubbing his back and making soothing noises with narrating increasingly more elaborate plans to let his ex know just how sorry he ought to be for hurting Hugh. The combination of non-trite consolation and humor thinly covers Tracy’s own outrage on his behalf, forcing an appreciative but humorless laugh when she proposes paying a visit to "punch him in the dick and see who else he tries to stick it into then". 

By 0200, Hugh isn't sure how or what he feels other than completely exhausted. Tracy raids his wardrobe for pajamas and refuses to sit back down on the couch, glaring at him until he moves to the bed and propping herself up against the headboard. He thinks he's too wrung out to sleep, but she fills the empty space with 'fleet gossip until just before dawn when unconsciousness finally claims him. 

She lets him sleep until nearly noon, doesn't comment on his snoring, and drags him out onto the cramped balcony overlooking the Bay. It doesn't take the edge off the sense of betrayal, but at least the coffee chases the lingering headache to the margins of his awareness. Tracy is still in listening mode, waiting until he runs out of steam before offering point and counterpoint in a mild tone.

”I should’ve left him. I shouldn’t have let him hurt me this much, Trace. Not when everyone else could see but I didn’t want to. You all told me, but I didn't listen.”

In the distance, a transport rises past the Golden Gate.

”You wanted to believe because you loved him. He didn’t deserve it, but you did. As for leaving...you weren’t ready yet. And I hate seeing it come to this to get to that point, but now you know. And it doesn’t matter how much he called you crazy or tried to blame you for his own asshole behavior. You didn’t **let** him- he took advantage of you.”

”I should have known.”

”Did you have proof?”

Tracy pours them both a refill while he chews his lip.

”No. Not really? Sort of. I...I didn’t want it to be true.”

”All right. And you know him saying it was your fault is BS, right?”

”...yeah. But- I just don’t...how could he-?”

”I’m no expert in psych, but I’d hazard to guess self-centeredness and refusal to take responsibility for much of anything as far as I could see. You can’t make sense of it because it doesn’t make sense.”

“I guess? But-I feel so...stupid," Hugh shakes his head, smiling bitterly, "I wasted all of this time, I turned down a chance to ship out on a Constitution mission because of him."

She sighs, setting down her coffee before turning to face him.

”Did you call me an idiot when I finally had enough of Josh for the last time?”

”What? Of course not, he was being a complete ass.”

”So...how’s it fair to do it to yourself?”

Tracy has the grace to not look triumphant when he doesn't have a good answer to that. They fall into silence again while he stares out across the Bay, Mount Tam's peak barely visible until the fog burns off. 

"I...thank you. No," he catches the fingers she waves dismissively, "I mean it. You didn't have to take off and come here to deal with my sorry ass."

"We were drunk for three days after Josh, and I seem to remember you pouring me into the tub until I sobered up. You," she tugs her hand free and points a finger, "don't even try to say you owe me. I'm your friend, I love you, and I wasn't going to leave you to deal with this on your own."

"Still. Thanks for always being there."

"You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the backstory for a line in Chapter 37 of "When Sorrow Turns to Joy." I was going to post as a flashback there, but it felt like it distracted too much from the story itself.
> 
> Details loosely based on unfortunate personal experience.


	125. Sleuthing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilly’s putting her Command Training Program observational skills to use at breakfast.

“...and Adira’s only sixteen. Sixteen!”

Tilly finishes with an emphatic gesture that nearly knocks her green juice into Commander Stamets’ coffee. They’re saved from that horrible fate by Dr. Culber’s hand intervening, nimbly catching the falling glass and moving the mug out of the way. She heaves a sigh of relief, then looks up to find them both looking at her expectantly. 

_You probably sighed a little too loudly._

”Umm. Sorry. I was uhh...relieved, thank you Doctor Culber, you’ve got such fast reflexes!”

Another beat, then the identical blank looks on their faces melt into smiles. 

_Before,_ she thinks, _Dr. Culber would have thrown his head back and laughed, and Stamets would have given him that look, the one where his eyes go all soft and he stops frowning._

Really though, the fact that they’re all three sitting down to breakfast and that horrible heavy silence between them has vanished is more than enough for her peace of mind. She can’t help cataloguing the differences though, falling silent as conversation turns to the effects of temporal displacement on human cells versus the many species of fungi on board.

They’re on the same side of the table, but not sitting as close as she remembers. Both have their arms resting on the table, no hands tucked up high on the other’s thigh. Nor is Culber’s hand resting on the small of Stamets’ back, although their elbows are touching. And while they did arrive together, both are the picture of professional uniform attire, not a blond hair out of place on Stamets and certainly no hint of a love bite showing over his collar. Culber’s expression was pleasant when they joined her, but his eyes didn’t have the slightly languid, pleased look she’d learned to associate with her boss and his partner indulging in what she assumed was pre-breakfast sex.

_Get your head out of the gutter, Sylvia. That’s not the important part anyway._

There seems to be a pause in the conversation, and she refocuses from Dr. Culber’s forearm back to his face.

”...hmmm?”

The pause goes on just long enough to be awkward before Stamets offers an opinion on mitotic disruption and they’re off again. Tilly jams the straw of her juice between her lips as an excuse not to speak. 

_Yes, Mom, I can actually be quiet sometimes._

The burst of frustrated anxiety whenever she thinks of her mother vanishes the moment she sees the doctor stretch and settle his hand on the back of Stamets’ chair. She leans back and tries to slouch enough to see under their side of the table without making it completely obvious. Unfortunately, her back is to the bulkhead so there’s only so far her chair will scoot away if she tries a stretch of her own.

_Hmmm_. _Have to find another reason._

Her excuse arrives moments later when Stamets reaches for his coffee and accidentally elbows his napkin off the table. Before it’s even finished fluttering to the floor, she spits out the straw and blurts, “I’ve got it!”

Both men stop talking to stare at her. 

_Oh way to go being casual, Sylvia. _

“...is something the matter?”

”What? Oh, no, I mean yes but not really. You umm, dropped your napkin sir. But I can get it for you,” she finishes brightly, “no need to stop talking!”

Stamets frowns at her (a standard one of bemusement and thankfully not one of the dozens of glowers she’s come to recognize), but shrugs before turning back to Culber.

”Right, thank you Tilly.”

Barely suppressing her excitement at being given the perfect opportunity, she sets down her juice, pushes her chair back, and bends at the waist. The position puts her eyeline at about knee-height, and she forgets all about the napkin when she sees their legs pressed together from thigh to boot heel. As she watches, Culber’s hand, previously on the back of Stamets’ chair, appears and settles on his knee instead. It’s not as high as she’s seen in the past, but the subsequent squeak of delight when Stamets rests his own pale hand on top is thankfully covered by someone nearby sneezing.

It takes her a moment to contain the grin, before she can sit back up without looking like she’s just been promoted to Captain and the reception is only serving spumoni ice cream. Tilly can’t help the happy smile though as she pops the straw back between her teeth and sucks.

**_Slurrrrrrrpp_**.

Unfortunately, the empty cup doesn’t magically offer up more juice, and she finds herself the target of their attention again.

”It usually helps if there’s liquid, Tilly,” Culber offers with a teasing lilt, “would you like me to get you another green juice? Paul needs more coffee, so I’m getting up anyway-”

”No! I mean, I’m happy to get up and get it sir, no need to stop your conversation about...” she actually has no idea what they’re discussing now, “the uhh, stuff.”

Tilly springs to her feet, already stepping between the tables before the doctor can offer a response. The synthesizers are behind them, so she takes the chance to really look. Their shoulders are touching now, and if she’s not mistaken, Stamets seems to be giving the doctor a small, sweet smile that makes her heart do happy loops.

The synthesizer dings behind her, interrupting her musings. She retrieves the beverages, and has just set them down between empty dishes when her comm buzzes on the table.

_”Burnham to Tilly.”_

”Tilly. Michael?”

_”Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you moved my shampoo? I can’t find it.”_

”What? That’s weird...” she trails off, noticing Culber making shooing motions.

”Go on, I’ll clear the table.”

She hesitates, torn between the desire to continue her observations and an opening to reconnect with her friend who seems so...different now.

_”Tilly?”_

”Oh. Coming, sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Tilly snaps the comm shut and pockets it, grabbing her juice and offering them an apologetic smile.

”Sorry sirs, have a good day? Umm. That wasn’t supposed to be a question.”

They wave her off, and she makes a mental note to check if they’ve moved back in together. It’s not technically her business, but there can’t be any harm in it, right?

********

”Paul, did Tilly seem a little odd just now?”

He sets down his coffee mug, frowning.

“No more than usual, why?”

”All that fuss and she didn’t pick up your napkin.”

”Oh,” he leans over and snags it off the floor, “huh. Maybe she only had two espressos instead of three today?”

Hugh chuckles, and Paul struggles to focus on anything other than the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

”Have you officially done it yet?”

”Done what?”

”Adopted Tilly.”

”Very funny.”

The mirth subsides, and Hugh turns his hand over on Paul’s knee to lace their fingers together.

”She cares about you a lot. I’m glad you had her when...when things weren’t great between us.”

A sigh.

”Me too. But I have you now, right?”

Paul’s smile is a little wobbly at the edges, still nervous that what he and Hugh are working to rebuild will somehow collapse. He tries not to feel disappointed when Hugh lets go of his hand to turn in his seat and face him fully.

”You never lost me, Paul. I just had to find myself again,” Hugh says quietly, “but I was always yours.”

They’re in a corner, but it wouldn’t matter even if they were in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve when Hugh leans in and kisses him softly.

And if there’s the sound of someone dropping a glass with a delighted exclamation near the doors of the mess hall, well, he’s too busy smiling at Hugh to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write just from Tilly’s viewpoint, but the epilogue demanded to be added. 
> 
> (It’s going to take a bit for the two of them to return to the comfort level they had before, and Tilly is the #1 Culmets shipper.)


	126. Shield

Hugh watches his shy, sweet, affectionate partner Paul slip below Lieutenant Stamets’ snappy and critical exterior.

He remembers seeing him working with his team on Deneva, intensely focused and disappointed by failure, but never so critical and outright rude as he is on Discovery. Paul’s most at home in charge of a project, large or small, with a team he trusts and who shares his vision. He takes time to get to know his people, is exacting but not harsh when accidents happen. Thrust into the role of Chief Engineer for the spore drive, he covers his awkwardness and uncomfortable reaction to directing five or six times as many people with persnickety comments and biting sarcasm. 

Hugh steps out from behind Doctor Culber’s professional manner with ease, but Paul struggles to do the same. He sees it sometimes in his interactions with the small group of engineers and scientists brought with him - Harrington among them - who still seem just as bemused as Hugh by the switch. Unfortunately, it only serves to further confuse the newly-assigned cadre of ensigns and cadets, who tread lightly around him. Cadet Tilly might be wearing down Paul’s protective measures, but he still winces when he sees him respond to her enthusiastic suggestions with skepticism.

He’s driven by the importance of the work to save lives, and Lorca’s heavy-handed militaristic attempts to drive the point home to who he sees as an aloof scientist only make it worse. Paul cares so much, Hugh knows it, even without the nights of holding him while he shakes and refuses to cry tears of frustration and fear that his creation will never succeed or worse, that it will be used to take lives instead. Hugh offers his arms, his mind, his medical knowledge, his love in support of his partner, even though it never feels like enough. 

Every time Paul gives him a real smile, when Hugh watches him sleep, each kiss, is a sandbag in the wall against the tide of despair. He'll stand between Paul and the universe if he has to, no matter what it takes out of him. Hugh's losing the man he loves to this war, but he'll be damned if he does so without a fight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this back in September with the intention to make it a flashback in When Sorrow Turns to Joy, but I think it works best as a standalone.


	127. Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **** SPOILERS FOR S3E4 ****
> 
> Hugh goes looking for Paul.

****Spoilers for “Forget Me Not”****

Paul’s not in Engineering when Hugh arrives, heart pounding from the jog through the corridors. He checks the console logs, but no one’s accessed in the last half hour.

Since Saru called them for dinner.

Necessary confrontation is something Hugh is all too familiar with from his fight with Ash Tyler, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Of everyone in the room, he was probably the only one who wasn’t shocked that it would happen. That being said, he hadn’t expected it to implode over the dinner table, or that Detmer’s usually calm temper would erupt and choose Paul as a target. 

”Computer, location of Paul Stamets?”

** _”Lieutenant Commander Stamets is in personal quarters, deck nine section gamma four.”_ **

Hugh doesn’t bother comming ahead, just takes the shortest route possible. He slows as he approaches the door, hand outstretched to signal for entry. Unexpectedly, the doors swish open as soon as he’s in proximity.

”Paul?”

He steps across the threshold slowly, hesitant in a way that feels foreign. Neither of them are quite ready for him to move back in, but he thinks it won’t be long until they have that conversation again. There’s still so much the two of them need to reconcile, he hopes that his access is intentional and not something Paul simply forgot. 

He expected to find Paul nose-first in a PADD, hiding from the universe in his work. Instead, he hears a sniffle, faint and choked off, from the direction of the bed. 

“Paul? It’s me.”

No response.

The lights are off, and he moves carefully to avoid tripping, although his feet know their way around the obstacles without thinking. There’s enough light filtering in from the stars that he can just make out Paul sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands.

Hugh sits next to him, lays a hand on his shaking shoulder and waits. Paul stiffens, but it seems more to do with trying to control his emotions than cringing away. He slowly lifts his head, and Hugh’s heart twists at the mix of anger, fear, and doubt in his eyes.

”Oh sweetheart...”

Paul sags into his embrace, face buried in his chest and arms around Hugh’s waist. He mumbles something that Hugh can’t quite make out, despite being well-versed in all things Paul.

”What’s that?”

Heaving a sigh, Paul turns his head so that his words aren’t obscured by fabric.

“She’s right.”

_Here we go._

“Who?”

”Detmer.”

”Paul-“

The man in his arms abruptly stands, agitated.

”She’s right. I- I’m selfish. Fuck, look what I did to you. And I...I hurt Tilly. She just wanted to help and I shot her down.”

Hugh doesn’t say anything yet, locking down the urge to wrap Paul in his arms and whisper words of comfort. It goes against all of his instincts, even though he knows it’s the right thing to do.

”And Saru wants me to find another way to navigate wi- without needing me. And I started thinking, what’s the point of me being here if that’s gone? My whole career, I wanted to create something impossible, something indispensable,” Paul laughs bitterly, edged with tears, “and look where it got me. Everyone thinks I’m a self-centered asshole, and yep, I guess they’re right. Turns out I’m the piece that isn’t needed.”

Paul’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, shoulders sagging.

”All that for what? They’ve got my creation now, they don’t need me.”

Swallowing down the pain in hearing the self-loathing, Hugh stands and moves in front of Paul. He takes his hands, gentling them open and holding on tight.

”I need you.”

”No you don’t,” Paul shakes his head, “all I do is hurt you.”

Some of that control slips, and Hugh can’t suppress his annoyance.

”You don’t get to decide what I do and do not need. We tried that before, remember?”

“See? I’m doing it now.”

There’s a headache growing behind his eyes.

”No. You- all of us. What we are right now is lost in a time and place where nothing is what we expected. We’re missing all the touch points, all the structures that made us who we are. And everyone keeps pretending they’re fine, but the truth is that no one is. Listen to me, Paul,” he presses their foreheads together, “trauma and change aren’t easy on anyone. That’s part of being alive.”

”So how come you’re fine?”

He’s expecting an automatic Stamets defense, but it’s more a plea than any sort of challenge.

”I’m not. I just got a head start on dealing with it before you all.”

Paul’s eyes are clenched shut, but he opens them when Hugh’s hand brushes through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his head. He gathers Paul in his arms, lets him hide his face in Hugh’s neck.

”We’ll figure it out. Together. Okay?”

It’s far from okay, but he feels Paul nodding.

”I- I need to. Talk. To them.”

Hugh rocks them back and forth gently, kisses Paul’s cheek and sighs.

”They’ll still be there. Give yourself a chance to feel, love. Just a couple of minutes, okay?”

”...I’m scared, Hugh.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleep deprived, I hope this reads clearly.
> 
> I needed to fill in the gap for what apparently has happened off-screen to go from one scene to the next and bring the emotions back down so that Paul is able to take the softer approach later on.


	128. Staying (the Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first night back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame is vague - until we see an episode of them in their quarters, we assume they’ve made up and are living together again, but don’t have a reference yet.

The first night Hugh sleeps with Paul again is a complete accident, and completely literal. 

They’re on the couch cuddling, barefoot in undershirts and pants unbuttoned. It’s not awkward or tentative, not when their bodies know how to fit together, but there’s a sense of deliberate contact where previously it would have been casual. Hugh’s stretched out sideways and leaning on the arm of the couch with Paul cradled between his knees and both arms around his shoulders. Paul’s resting most of his weight on his chest, and Hugh drops kisses onto the hair at the crown of his head every now and then. The ship is still conserving power, so the environmental controls have been dialed back and while it’s not cold by any means, it’s cooler than comfortable with bare arms. Paul has the throw spread over them both, although the heat of him combined with a high metabolism is more than enough to keep Hugh warm. 

Actually, the heat is making him drowsy. They’ve been yawning at increasingly more frequent intervals while stubbornly avoiding acknowledging the late hour. It’s prolonging the inevitable, because doing so would mean saying goodnight, sharing a few more kisses before Hugh puts on his boots and leaves Paul to crawl into bed alone. They haven’t broached the topic of Hugh moving back in again quite yet, and he appreciates Paul’s careful avoidance of pressure, but seeing the longing in those blue eyes isn’t the same thing as Paul finding the words to ask and he’s not sure it’s his place to presume.

“I should probably go soon,” he admits reluctantly when his eyelids have grown more than heavy.

”Yeah.”

The disappointment is concealed masterfully, evidenced only in the slight tightening of Paul’s hand where he’s stroking Hugh’s knee. They fall silent again, Hugh nuzzling Paul’s temple. Getting up to leave is part of the boundaries they’re still redefining, but Paul’s warmth and scent are a powerful argument against moving at all. He rubs Paul’s chest under the blanket, keeping his touch undemanding, and drinks in the resulting sighs. 

“Just a little longer, okay love?”

”...yeah.”

They’re so cozy and comfortable like this, and Hugh lets his eyes fall shut, giving himself a mental count of one hundred to enjoy Paul’s nearness before starting to extricate himself. 

He only makes it to forty-three.

********

The room is completely dark when Hugh slowly blinks awake again, surrounded by a sense of immense peace. He’s about to close his eyes and go back to sleep when he realizes that he’s not in his own quarters. 

Paul’s a familiar/unfamiliar weight pinning him to the cushions. They’ve both slid down further, Hugh’s head resting on the couch arm and Paul’s feet pressed to the other. Whereas before he was cuddled with his back against Hugh’s chest, he’s somehow managed to turn over without disturbing either of them and now has both arms around Hugh’s waist, head pillowed on his shoulder. Their breathing is in sync, although Hugh’s is slightly constricted. It’s not enough to complain about at all, not when he finally feels grounded in his own body. Hugh tries to free an arm, freezing as Paul shifts, nose wrinkling before falling still again. His tousled hair tickles Hugh’s cheek, and he looks so peaceful that waking him seems out of the question. 

On one hand, this isn’t breaking any unspoken boundaries per se, particularly not when he feels blanketed by Paul's love in a very physical way. On the other, it’s more than they’ve done in the last few days since Discovery landed in the future, feeling their way back together again, and he doesn’t want to upset the careful equilibrium.

”Stop thinking so much.”

Paul’s voice is drowsy, sleep-rough and fond.

”...you’re awake.”

_Oh, real intelligent there._

“So are you.”

”I-“ Hugh turns his head to see a pair of stormy blue eyes watching him, half-closed but alert, “is this okay?”

Paul shifts his weight, squirming closer until he can kiss the underside of Hugh’s jaw.

”Yes. More than okay.”

He can’t help the smile at Paul’s expression.

”Good.”

”Is it okay with you?”

He takes a moment to think, and Paul lets him have it, waiting patiently.

”Waking up with you in my arms is...I don’t think there’s a word for it.”

Paul hums contentedly.

”Me too.”

It’s getting hard to keep his eyes open, even as he tries to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

_This is happiness._

“Sleep. We can-“ Paul breaks off to yawn, “can talk about it in the morning.”

”Okay.”

He tugs the blanket further up over them both before slipping his hands underneath Paul’s shirt. Paul sighs, snuggling back down on his shoulder and tucking his head under Hugh’s chin.

”Goodnight, sweetheart.”

”Goodnight, dear doctor.”


	129. Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-S3E4 lightheartedness.

A hand shakes his shoulder, and Paul groans, swatting at it. It vanishes, but returns a moment later, more insistent.

"...whuh?" he grumbles, dragging his eyes open slowly and pulling his face out of the pillow. 

Hugh knows he's not good with mornings, so- 

"You're not Hugh."

Adira retrieves their hand, clasping both in front of them. Behind him, he can hear Hugh's slow, rhythmic breathing indicating that he's still very much asleep.

_I would love to be asleep too._

"Adira."

"You weren't answering your comm."

"It's-" Paul pushes himself up on an elbow, squinting at the chrono while his brain slowly comes online, "it's oh-two-forty, why are you- actually _how_ are you even in here?"

"A kid could override your door lock mechanisms."

"_You're _a...ugh, never mind. But seriously? You don't break into people's quarters in the middle of the night."

"It's important."

"You couldn't, I don't know, leave a message? Try sending a priority comm?"

"It's about the spore drive interface."

"Tilly's on gamma. Why didn't you talk to her?"

Adira fidgets.

"I did. She said I should ask you."

"Tilly said-"

_Wait. She probably didn't think the teenage genius was going to let themself in to tell you whatever it is **now.**_

"Ugh. All right, I'm awake. What is it?"

"See, I," Adira lowers their voice at Paul's glare when Hugh shifts on the sheets, "I had this idea for an interface that doesn't involve poking things into your arms."

He has a suspicion about where this might be going.

"...does it involve dark matter?"

"Uhh, no? Why would it? They're not even in the same domain-"

Paul waves off the comment, although he's privately amused.

"Go on."

Hugh groans quietly, and Paul really hopes he doesn't wake up because he doesn't want to have to explain why their resident Trill-human hybrid is standing in their quarters at this hour.

"Well, I was thinking, why not just use programma- oh. Umm."

In a bout of wonderful/terrible timing, Hugh rolls onto his side and snuggles up to Paul, clearly unconscious even as his hand settles on Paul's ass with a content hum.

"Eww."

"Adira?"

"Like ummm, no offense, but I can't figure out if that's really nice or just weird."

Paul briefly considers stuffing his face back into the pillow and smothering himself unconscious. At least Hugh's under the duvet, because as far as he can tell, his partner is still completely naked. 

_Wouldn't that be awkward._

"Can it wait for a few more hours?"

"Yeah, I just...I thought you'd want to know right away."

He summons up half a smile.

"I appreciate it, but please tell me you aren't just going to let yourself in every time someone doesn't answer a comm."

"Sorry," Adira has the grace to look abashed, "I'll...write it down?"

"Great."

Paul lets his head fall, pulling the covers up around his shoulders as he hears Adira leaving.

_Kids._


	130. Side (of the Bed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this one came from, and I regret nothing.

Paul’s in bed already when Hugh gets back to their quarters, but he sets the PADD down as soon as the doors swish shut and greets him with a happy smile.

”Hi honey,” Hugh kicks off his boots and follows Paul’s grabby hands for a kiss hello, “you’re in a good mood.”

”My paper was accepted for publication.”

Hugh pauses with his jacket half off.

”Told you you didn’t have anything to worry about,” he teases with a grin, stripping down efficiently.

”Yeah, but getting _Cell_ to accept it with only minor revisions? Unheard of.”

The grumbling is in words only, because Paul can’t even pretend to be unhappy about anything.

”Well,” Hugh skims off his briefs and picks up his pajamas off the pillow, “you _are_ a genius.”

“Your genius?”

”Mmhmm. Coming in with me?”

”No, I showered already.”

It’s mildly disappointing, but Hugh doesn’t pout, just drops his uniform in the laundry pile and starts the shower. He’ll have to settle for snuggles to celebrate then, instead of soaping Paul down. With that in mind, he washes himself with economical motions, enjoying the heat and steam for another minute before stepping out and getting dressed.

”Babe? Did you want to brush yo- mmmppphhhh.”

He’s barely over the threshold when a maroon blur comes sailing at him, landing draped over his face. 

“What the- hey!”

Hugh recovers from his surprise and pulls the offending object off his head just as a dark grey bundle of fabric follows the same trajectory. Blinking in confusion, he frees himself from what seems to be Paul’s pajamas.

”Babe, what are...oh. Well.”

He drops the garments without a second thought and swallows.

”Hi.”

Paul is sprawled over Hugh’s side of the sheets on his stomach, duvet kicked to the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but a playful smile.

”Is this an invitation?” Hugh raises an eyebrow, giving the expected response.

”Your side of the bed is much more comfortable.”

”Is it now?”

Paul’s hair is damp and messy, and Hugh wants to run his fingers through it, but that’s not how this game is played. Instead, he feigns disinterest, arms crossed over his chest.

”If you don’t believe me,” Paul rolls onto his back, revealing evidence that his hands haven’t been idle while Hugh was showering, “why don’t you come try it out for yourself?”

Try as he might to keep his expression neutral, his lips curve into a smirk at the sight.

”Are you going to move?”

“No, I think I should stay and demonstrate exactly what I mean.”

One of his hands walks itself down his body, and Hugh licks his lips as it starts stroking languidly.

”Oh?”

”Mmhmm. Best experienced without clothes, in fact.”

Hugh nudges Paul’s pajamas to the side with his foot before gripping the hem of his shirt in both hands and slowly pulling it off, flexing his stomach as he does so just to hear Paul’s hum of appreciation. The pants are next, and he stands there for a few seconds after, letting his partner look his fill _(“You’ve seen this old thing for years, nothing special.” “To you. Get over here, I want to touch you.”)_.

“What now, then?”

He plants his hands on his hips, feels something below the waist give an interested twitch.

”Come lay down and see.”

”Where?”

“Right here,” Paul pats his hip with his free hand, “exactly where I am.”

”Is that the best spot to feel it?”

The bottle of lube nearly hits him in the chest. 

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Well then,” Hugh murmurs as he climbs onto the bed and slowly crawls up Paul’s body, “I expect a full demonstration.”

”You won’t be disappointed. Come here often?”

This close, he can see Paul’s eyes have gone dark with arousal, cheeks flushed and biting his lip. Hugh rolls his eyes at the bad pun, but answers anyway.

”Every chance I get.”

Paul’s smile is the last thing he sees before closing his eyes for a kiss.

_It’s going to be a good night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Cell” is a highly respected peer-reviewed journal in the present day, and I’d like to think it would remain so into the twenty-third century.
> 
> And yes, Hugh and Paul have quite a list of games they play ;)


	131. Superior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **** SPOILERS FOR S3E5 *****

** Spoilers for “Die Trying” below **  
  


”So, Commander Stamets, if you are indeed _essential personnel_, surely you would have a contingency to operate your spore drive should your...augments malfunction.”

”Well, they haven’t.”

”And if they do? How would you plan on maintaining them?”

Paul barely controls the urge to roll his eyes. 

”We may be nine hundred and thirty years out of date, _Lieutenant,_ but Discovery’s capable of sustaining herself. And that includes these.”

”I see. And who designed them?”

The Lieutenant “debriefing” him has the most bored expression he’s ever seen.

”Doctor Hugh Culber.”

”The one who died?”

A muscle twitches in Paul’s jaw at the reminder, but thankfully his questioner is staring at the holographic display reading what Paul can only assume are the notes from Hugh’s debrief. Privately, he hopes Hugh turned the biting wit and frosty professional demeanor on these Security types.

_He might not have had to. People tend to actually like him._

”He’s not dead anymore.”

The man hmmph’s before moving on to the next question.

“How would you sustain these were he reassigned elsewhere?”

_They wouldn’t dare._

”You can’t do that.”

”You’re both Starfleet officers, you understand the Federation’s needs outweigh your preference for a personal physician,” the Lieutenant intones, “surely someone else can be trained to do so.”

”No. You really, really can’t do that.”

The man frowns, focusing fully on Paul instead of flicking through files.

”Why is that?”

_Oh what the hell,_ he thinks, _it’s not insubordination._

”Did you actually read my file, or are you just enjoying being smug and superior to someone who technically both outranks you and is nine centuries older?”

Pulling rank isn’t something he does often, but in this case both his sensibilities as a scientist and the panic gnawing at his stomach at the implication that Hugh might be taken away are in agreement.

”...sir.”

”Thank you.”

”You didn’t answer the question, Commander.”

This time, he does roll his eyes. 

”If you’d bothered to read past my name and serial number, you’d see that I have a registered partnership with Starfleet. And that Doctor Hugh Culber, who, in addition to being my physician of record, is my partner. Has Starfleet changed its regulations governing separation of partners without their consent?”

The Lieutenant blinks at him for a moment.

_Nope, definitely didn’t read it. _

”I see. However-“

_Hugh’s going to lecture you later for being rude._

”However, I watched my partner be murdered in front of me, held his body, _buried_ it, had to leave him on another plane of existence only to find him again and bring him out and have to deal with weeks of angst because resurrection isn’t something they cover in the Starfleet Training Manual, and didn’t know he was going to come with Discovery until he fished seven inches of shrapnel out of my heart a few days ago. Death couldn’t separate us,” he smiles with a slightly vicious edge, “and Starfleet can’t do a damn thing about that. Now, any other questions that can’t be answered by actually reading my file?”

The man swallows. Tilly had told him that his glare could dent duranium, and he doesn’t hesitate to use it. 

”Command may have further questions regarding your genetic manip-“

”Vice Admiral Katrina Cornwell’s approval due to extenuating circumstances in a time of war is also in my file. Next.”

”Your spore drive technology. Can it be reproduced elsewhere?”

”No. Next.”

”Can your...mushrooms be transferred off Discovery?”

”No.”

A headache is starting to form behind his eyes. What he needs is about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, preferably with Hugh in his arms, not to be sitting here and trying to convince Starfleet that they’re actually the time-traveling crew they say they are.

”Why is that?”

”Is there a point to this? The drive is part of Discovery. I’m part of the drive, and it can’t function without the spores. And I can’t function without Doctor Culber.”

There’s not an immediate response, but the Lieutenant closes the file.

”That’s all then. Commander.”

”Have a nice day,” Paul pastes an insincere smile on as he stands and walks out of the room.

_Hugh’s going to love this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the smoothest read, but I had to write it. A bit jumbled, built off of the split-second we see of Hugh holding Paul’s hand in the shuttlebay when Saru announces the crew is being split up. I can’t imagine Paul and Hugh would go quietly.


	132. Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** SPOILERS FOR S3E5 ***

Hugh rests his hand on Keyla's arm in gentle support after her "they're breaking us up?" has a note of more than a little panic. He takes in her rigid posture with arms tightly crossed, the widening of her pupils, and wonders if Saru even realizes the level of panic he's causing. Murmuring begins among the crew assembled in the shuttle bay, some confused, some angry, and others just frightened. Under it all, he hears one noise louder than others - Paul's breath hitching - and his focus narrows in on him.

_Sorry Keyla._

Saru's saying something about trusting the process, and he doesn't spare the attention to protest the lack of empathy and cowardice. Instead, he takes a half step back and shares a look with Paul, brushing the backs of their hands together. Paul's lips are pressed together and his expression seems calm, except his eyes are full of fear and he can feel the tension in his partner's body. He reaches for Paul's hand without looking, squeezing it tightly and releasing it. It's meant to be brief touch of reassurance while preserving professional behavior on duty such as it is, but Paul's hand returns a moment later, gripping his fiercely even as they both look straight ahead.

Hugh squeezes Paul's hand twice, runs his thumb over the side of his palm three times. It's their silent signal for _I'm here, it'll be okay._

Paul jogs their hands, taps his pinky. _I don't like this,_ the gesture says.

They're being called apart and Paul starts to move towards Tilly, but Hugh doesn't let go of his hand just yet, tugging him close enough that their shoulders bump. 

"Hugh-?"

He leans in until he can speak right into Paul's ear, quietly enough that no one else will hear

"I won't let them take you away from me."

Two squeezes. _Okay._

They let go of each other's hand, and Hugh straightens his uniform, pulling Dr. Culber's neutral face on.

_Try me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation with FrozenMemories about the two-second shot of Hugh reaching for Paul's hand, and when camera pans back over they seem to have switched whose hand is on top.


	133. Superior, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***SPOILERS FOR S3E5 ***
> 
> Companion piece to Paul's debriefing in Chapter 131.

"So you were...dead?"

Hugh crosses his arms, wearing the patronizing smile he perfected pushing back on Lorca's unreasonable demands.

"Yes. As I said."

"Clinically dead?"

He grits his teeth to keep from replying with a _"is there another kind of dead?"_

"Well, I was emotionally dead too,” he continues conversationally, “and I was murdered.” 

_Is he even paying attention?_

“That can really do a number on you," he huffs a laugh, "but my murderer and I are good now."

“And who is your...murderer?”

”Oh. Well, technically he’s probably dead now since it’s been nine hundred years or so, so it’s more a matter of who _was_ my murderer. That was a Klingon named Voq, but his lover had his entire body rebuilt to look like a human and grafted a consciousness onto it. Must have been painful. Broke every bone, reshaped his organs and everything. Looked like PTSD except for the part where he snapped my neck. It didn’t really hurt, at the time.”

The Lieutenant is the first to look away from Hugh’s bland stare, and he doesn’t pursue it any further.

“What is your relation to the spore drive?”

”I designed the augments our navigator uses to interface with the drive.”

“Are you ever called upon to perform maintenance on the augments?”

”Occasionally. Commander Stamets rarely requires it.”

_Where is he going with this?_

”Could they be reproduced in another human?”

”Sure, but they wouldn’t work.”

”Why is that?”

”Without tardigrade DNA or other hybridization to allow horizontal gene transfer, the normal and even abnormal human genetic structure would be insufficient to support the neural impulses necessary to navigate the mycelial network.”

”I see.”

Hugh doubts that.

”Would you consider your role critical?”

”Excuse me?”

”Could you train someone else on how these augments function and their upkeep?”

”No.”

”I’m sorry, Doctor?”

”I said, no. Why would I need to? They’re unique, and I’m...intimately familiar enough with Commander Stamets’ physiology to ensure they remain optimally operational.”

The implication sails right over the guy’s head.

“If Commander Stamets’ modifications are indeed essential for operation of the drive, he of course would remain with the ship. Your reassignment may be in a wholly different location.”

Doctor Culber tells him to stay professional, but Hugh sees an outlet to channel the pain of seeing Paul's fear. Inside his boots, Hugh’s toes curl so hard his right foot cramps as he manages to keep from informing Starfleet exactly what they can do.

_Not sure Paul would be okay with sharing when he has exclusive rights to kiss my ass._

"They can't separate us."

He’s proud of keeping his voice level.

"Under Starfleet regulatio-"

"If they try, I'll resign my commission."

The awkward silence tells him that the Lieutenant clearly wasn’t expecting to hear that.

"And what would that do?"

Hugh adds a heavy dose of condescension to his voice.

"Read my file," he tilts his head to the side, infusing his words with patently false cheer, “are we done?”

His tone is sharp enough to shave with.

“...yes.”

”Enjoy the rest of your day, Lieutenant.”

_Paul is going to have so much fun with them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snark level 1000%


	134. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff on one of the first mornings back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the new promo images for S3E6 "Scavengers" at https://trekmovie.com/2020/11/16/preview-star-trek-discovery-episode-306-with-17-new-images-from-scavengers/. Contains images for the next episode.

For the first time in a long time, Paul wakes up with the feeling of being watched without the tension of a fading nightmare. Instead, he hears a soft hum and warm fingers trail down his cheek before ruffling his hair. 

"Good morning, sweetheart."

Sleep falls away and he opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight in the universe. 

Hugh's smiling at him, not his signature toothy grin, but the gentle upward curve of his lips that crinkles the laugh lines beside his eyes and makes Paul feel like he's being bathed in sunlight.

"Good morning," he murmurs, voice rough with disuse, "what's that look for?"

"Just thinking how lucky I am, to wake up next to you."

Paul scrubs a hand over his eyes, suppressing a yawn.

"Mmm. Funny, I was thinking the same thing."

Hugh pushes himself up to sit with his hip against the pillow and leans down, lips pursing for a kiss, and Paul lets his eyes fall closed again. 

And waits.

He peeks out from under his lashes to find Hugh's face hovering about six inches away, frowning.

"Hugh? What is it?"

A quirked eyebrow.

"We haven't brushed our teeth yet."

_Oh._

It takes a moment to register, then Paul's kicking the covers down and climbing over him and off the other side of the bed, Hugh's hand firmly in his.

"Come on."

He doesn't even bother to shake down the pant leg that's ridden up above his calf, not stopping until they're at the sink. Hugh's eyes are full of fond amusement as Paul practically stuffs his toothbrush into his hand for him, but he doesn't speak again until they're done and rinsing.

"If I'd known that's what it takes, I'd have tried that one years ago."

It's a tease, because they both know full well he did try to no avail. Paul pauses, half-turned towards the facilities.

"It wouldn't have worked."

Hugh washes his face in silence, but Paul can feel the quizzical look as he finishes and washes his hands. 

"Why now then?"

Catching Hugh's hand in his again, he pulls them back to bed. They settle on their respective sides, Paul slipping his legs back under the covers with a sigh.

"Because I didn't think that this," he rubs Hugh's thigh, "would ever be something...that you wouldn't be waiting for me to wake up. I know better and I'm not going to waste any of it now."

"Oh sweetheart..."

Hugh's hands cradle his face, lips parting, and Paul's eyes flutter shut as he leans in. The kiss is close-mouthed and firm, and they stay just like that for several heartbeats, breathing each other in. When they finally separate, Hugh curls his fingers around the hand fisted on his knee.

"I'm sorry I made you wait."

Paul caresses the back of Hugh's hand, fingers running over the knuckles.

"No more apologizing, remember?"

Hugh's other hand comes down on top, the weight warm and welcome.

"Goes for both of us, then. Do you want coffee?"

He shakes his head, squeezing their hands more tightly.

"Not yet. Can we just stay like this for a little while?"

"Like this? Or did you want to cuddle?"

Hugh's smile is back as Paul gives him a look.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

He climbs back under the covers as well, opening his arms for Paul to snuggle against his chest.

"Comfy?"

"Mmhmm."

"You're going back to sleep, aren't you?"

"Mmhmm."

Paul hums in contentment as Hugh kisses the crown of his head, beard catching in his hair.

"Okay. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

Hugh wraps the duvet around their shoulders, hand slipping under Paul's shirt to rest on his hip.

"Promise."

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[ _Images from promo photos for S3E6 "Scavengers"._ ](https://trekmovie.com/2020/11/16/preview-star-trek-discovery-episode-306-with-17-new-images-from-scavengers/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED.


	135. Stir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the thinnest excuse for a plot :)

Hugh’s dreaming, he’s sure of it. He’s surrounded by colors and sounds, senses jumbled, the air tasting of warmth and smelling of delight. Glimpses of things flicker across his field of vision like rapidly-changing holos: a rocky slope covered in moss, his grandmother’s coconut pudding, the pristine silver and white of Starfleet Medical, flushed cheeks and tousled blond hair. He’s wrapped in contentment, cozy with heat spreading down to his fingertips. 

Everything fades away as he slowly blinks his eyes open against the lowered lights, the profusion of images coalescing into the neat grey lines of personal quarters on Discovery. Oddly, the feeling of tingling heat remains, carried over and even intensified now that he’s awake.

Fingers squeeze his wrist, and he looks down his body to find his pants around his ankles and a pair of sparkling blue eyes full of mischief above a mouth full of...well, full of Hugh.

“Hi.”

Paul releases him with a long lick, propping his chin on Hugh’s hip. His lips are pink and shiny with spit, and he gives Hugh a smile that says he’s very pleased with himself.

”Morning. I hope you don’t mind me starting on breakfast without you?”

It’s playful and full of innuendo, but there’s a silent question in Paul’s raised eyebrow.

_Want me to stop?_

(Hugh knows all it would take is the slightest indication that he’s not onboard - regardless of his body’s reaction - and Paul won’t continue. He might pout and tease Hugh later, but some things are sacred between them, and one of those is trust.)

”By all means,” he laces their fingers together, “please continue. I’d hate to deprive you of...sustenance.”

Paul’s smile widens, and he kisses the tip before getting back to work. His mouth is hot and wet and slippery, and when he starts humming Hugh gives up any attempt at rational thought and just enjoys the ride.

A few sweaty minutes later, Paul swallows the evidence of Hugh’s appreciation and shimmies back up his partner’s body. He looks a bit like a pleased cat, all smug and satisfied. 

”Now that...is a good morning,” Hugh rasps out.

He tries to pull Paul in for a kiss, frowning when he plants a hand in the middle of Hugh’s chest.

”Can you brush your teeth first?”

Hugh’s mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to get his thoughts in order. Then-

“You’re sitting here with my cum on your chin, but I’m not allowed to kiss you until _I _brush _my_ teeth?”

Paul wipes his chin with the back of his free hand, shrugging and using the sleeve of his pajama top to clean the rest off. He ducks to drop a kiss on Hugh’s cheek before deftly evading his lips and giving him a push towards the side of the bed.

”Yes.”

”The things I do for you,” he mutters in a stage whisper, grinning at the indignant noise behind him.

”You love me.”

Hugh pauses with a hand on the doorframe, looking back over his shoulder.

”Babe?”

”Hmmm?”

He eyes the unresolved issue in Paul’s lap.

”Keep yourself busy. I’ll be back to return the favor.”

Paul’s delighted laugh follows him into the bathroom as he reaches for his toothbrush.

_Definitely a good start to our day off._


	136. Slumber Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** SPOILERS FOR S3E6 ***
> 
> Scene expansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She/her pronouns for Adira as spoken during the episode.

*** Spoilers below for “Scavengers” ***

  
Paul’s already tucked in bed when Hugh goes to use the bathroom, distracted by his missing augments. He watches Paul’s reflection as he dries his hands, sees him rub the skin of his bare forearm over and over again in wonder.

”So we have Adira to thank for this?”

He doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, and thankfully Paul doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

”God, I hated those things,” he groans, pressing down on the freshly regenerated skin, stopping when Hugh gives him a look.

”I hated them more,” Hugh mutters, climbing onto the bed. 

They might have been his design, but they’d been created of sheer necessity, not something either of them would ever have chosen. 

”It’s amazing,” Paul murmurs as Hugh settles down at his side.

”And she’s only sixteen?”

His partner sighs, pushing up on his elbow, expression bemused.

”She trusted me, today.”

”And that’s bad why?” 

Paul’s wearing an adorable little frown in response to Hugh’s teasing.

”Because I’ve never had time to be a tween’s confidante.”

”Paul,” he laughs, “she’s not going to invite you to her slumber party.”

For all his scientific brilliance, Paul was amazingly blind to the ways he managed to effortlessly do the very things he swore he didn’t know how to do. He was amazing with Hugh’s nieces and nephews and cousins, and they had adored their Tío Paul ever since Hugh brought him to visit the first time. Over the years, Paul patiently explained the physics behind building structurally sound pillow forts and calmly administered first aid to their scrapes; as they grew older, he helped with science projects. Hugh sometimes wondered how Paul could ever think he was bad with kids.

Paul curls their fingers together on Hugh’s knee, pensive.

”Why do you think you reached out to her today?”

”Because she’s brilliant, and seemed to have a hard time with people, or doing anything besides work.”

He absently plays with Hugh’s fingers while he speaks, running his index finger back and forth. As he listens, Hugh can’t help but compare it to how Paul used to talk about Tilly.

_I wonder if he even realizes he’s already adopted her._

“Remind you of anyone?”

That earns him a smile. The affection banks down a moment later, something else flitting across Paul’s face. His fingers still, covering the back of Hugh’s hand.

”And...,” Paul seems to be searching for the right words, “because she loved someone who died and isn’t gone.”

Hugh nods, can feel Paul willing him to understand when he himself isn’t even sure what he’s trying to say.

”I never, ever, thought I’d meet anyone who knew what that was like. And I guess...I’m grateful to her. And I want to help her, somehow. She has no idea.”

Hugh smooths his hand over Paul’s hair, thumb stroking his cheek and fingers curved around the back of his neck. 

”So tell her.”

He’s missed these conversations in bed together, quiet moments where no matter everything else, they remembered to just be Paul and Hugh to each other. Living together again is still settling in, but this is something that hasn’t changed. Leaning forward, he seals it with a kiss, hands cradling Paul’s head. 

_I love this impossible man so much._

Paul makes an inquisitive noise when Hugh pushes his sleeves up again, kissing over the unbroken skin where the augments used to reside. He lingers there for a few breaths, erasing their intrusion from Paul’s lovely pale arms. When he’s satisfied, he slips under the covers as well, ordering the lights off. 

Wordlessly directing Paul to roll onto his side with a hand on his shoulder, Hugh spoons up behind him. They tend to do the reverse more often, but he can’t help but respond to the remembered pain in Paul's voice with a desire to soothe and protect. 

“Hugh?”

”Hmm?”

”Thank you.”

He kisses the back of Paul’s neck, burying his nose in the short hairs there.

”For what?”

”Just...for listening.”

Hugh tightens his arms, smiling.

”Always, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, canon confirmation that I’ve been writing Hugh and Paul on “their” sides of the bed correctly? I’m dead.
> 
> Second...WTF, the promos teased us with a Culmets kiss but we didn’t get it onscreen?!? 
> 
> Frankly, they spent way too long on the Burnham/Book kiss (nice, but did we really need that many angles? Michaels track record with romance is *terrible*). And if that’s a reason they cut the Culmets kiss, well...yeah.
> 
> I loved the bedroom scene. On so many levels. The tenderness and vulnerability was off the charts, and the sheer domesticity makes my heart flutter.
> 
> But I feel cheated of that beautiful kiss, and disappointment is interfering with my enjoyment of the minute and a half of Culmets we did get. I wrote it back in, but it’s not quite the same.
> 
> Rant over. For now.
> 
> EDIT 11/19 AM: Anthony just replied (!) to a tweet of mine expressing disappointment and said that it was a quick kiss and he was surprised to see it as a promo because it was misleading about its significance.


	137. Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh moves back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before S3E6, possibly during the three weeks of retrofitting done on Discovery.

"Is this...everything?"

The doors swish closed behind him and Hugh pauses in setting down the last crate.

"...yes?"

"Oh."

He straightens to find Paul standing a few feet away, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

"What is it?"

"Nothing-" Paul winces at Hugh's look, "I just. I thought there'd be more."

Hugh surveys the space between them - three crates, his duffel bag, and a folded throw sit innocuously at his feet.

"Most of it's back in storage," he shrugs, unsure if he ought to be concerned or annoyed, "I didn't throw it out, if that's what you're-"

Paul shakes his head immediately.

"No, that's not what...of course I didn't mean that."

The fidgeting increases, and he steps over the pile to catch Paul's hands in his own, stilling the restless fingers.

"Then what?"

He frowns as Paul chews his lip, looking down. 

_I know that look._

"Paul, talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Please."

"I don't know," Paul addresses their feet, "the reminder maybe? I- I can't explain it."

_Oh._

Hugh bumps their noses together gently, waiting until Paul raises his head.

"It's reminding you of me...moving out."

"Yeah."

There's not much else he can say to that, but there is something he can do about it. He kisses Paul's cheek, then lets go of one hand and takes a step back towards his things, tugging Paul along with him.

"Come on."

"Hugh?"

The confused frown makes him want to smile, but it's probably not appropriate right now.

"Let's make a better memory. Help me unpack?"

Comprehension dawns in Paul's eyes, and he nods. 

"Sure."

********

It takes all of about fifteen minutes before Hugh collapses the crates and tosses his now-empty duffel back onto the top shelf of the wardrobe. Hugh ignores the tightness in his chest when he sets out mementos again, their spaces still empty. He makes sure to be occupied sorting things into his nightstand drawer in order to let Paul put away his off-duty clothes in the dresser. And he pretends not to notice the way Paul's fingers linger, smoothing over the seams as he hangs Hugh's medical whites in the closet next to his own uniforms.

At last, he comes to stand at Paul's side, gazing into the open wardrobe. It, like the dresser, is full again, no longer unbalanced by missing things. He thinks that maybe he'll move his stuff around eventually, but having them where they both remember is a comfort.

"You left space for me."

Paul blinks back to awareness, turning to look at him.

"Hmm?"

"I thought you might have...I don't know. Rearranged. No-" he squeezes Paul's hand, "I'm not talking about the process of grief. I just, wasn't expecting everything to be the same."

"Well. I did take over your underwear drawer, but I moved it all back to mine last night."

It's said quietly, and while he appreciates the humor, he appreciates Paul's honesty more. He can't resist a gentle tease in return, though.

"Are they actually folded?"

Paul's side-eye is mostly affectionate with only a little bit of lingering unease.

"No."

The _of course not_ goes unsaid, and Hugh smiles at that, wrapping his arm around Paul's waist and feeling Paul's settle around his shoulders. Silence reigns between them for a couple of minutes, comfortable and contemplative.

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Letting me...fit back into your life."

Paul turns to face him fully, bringing his other arm up to pull Hugh into a hug and kissing him softly.

"We've both changed. That's what you were trying to tell me, right? We needed to change and grow, and I understand that now." 

Hugh glances around their quarters again. This time he sees the changes - they're small, easily overlooked as he just did, but present nonetheless. Paul's switched the arrangement of chrono and PADDs on his own nightstand, moved holos and trinkets. Even though he's left the spaces where Hugh's things went mostly untouched, there's a different lamp on the desk, a few new sets of off-duty clothes folded on top of the dresser.

_He does._

He can feel Paul watching him, waiting for him to finish his survey.

"Me too."

"But the parts of you that I love," his arms tighten around Hugh, "the things that truly make you who you are? Those are the same, and those are the parts that we know how to make fit."

"The mycelia have grown, but it still starts in the same place?"

For a moment, Paul looks surprised at the metaphor, then he laughs in delight.

"Yes. Exactly."

"I do listen when you're talking about your mushrooms," Hugh adds, smiling.

Paul laughs again, then leans in for another kiss, this one slower and sweet.

"Welcome home, dear doctor."


	138. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh's grandmother post- "Such Sweet Sorrow".

Four and a half months after Discovery was lost with all hands, Aida is in her study when the door chime goes off.

"Identify visitor."

The ID comes through and she raises an eyebrow.

_Interesting._

She sighs, guiding her antigrav chair to the front door and touching the door panel. It swishes open a moment later, and she looks up with a stern expression at the man in a gold and black uniform standing at attention.

"Professor, I-"

"Captain Christopher Pike, of the U.S.S. Enterprise. What are you doing here?"

He blinks in surprise but recovers a moment later. Instead of offense at the demand, his posture softens minutely and a slow smile spreads over his face.

"Professor, may I come in?"

Aida nods, turning to lead him into the living room.

"May I get you something, Captain?"

Pike sits on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in his lap.

"That's very kind ma'am, but no thank you."

She studies him, not bothering to hide her scrutiny.

"So. Have you something new to tell me about the..." she clenches the arm of the chair to steady her voice, "the loss of my grandsons?"

"Grandsons? I thought I understood that Doctor Hugh Culber is- was, yours."

"Hugh, yes. And his Paul."

Something infinitely sad but hopeful flickers over Pike's face, there and gone in an instant. 

"I see."

"Well?"

Pike sighs, glancing down at his boots for a moment. Her eyes land on one holo of dozens adorning the mantle, Lieutenant Junior Grade Doctor Hugh Culber in his medical whites, Aida kissing his cheek after the commissioning ceremony.

_Gone._

"Nothing new, per se. But I do...I was Captain of the Discovery for several months until her final mission, as you know."

"Yes. And I know the mission was classified, and they're blaming a catastrophic failure of an experiment involving Paul's drive. Which," she fixes him with a look, "is preposterous. That man wouldn't let a lab experiment fail without thorough analysis, let alone an accident on a starship. So. Are you here to tell me what Starfleet is covering up, or to remind me again of my duty as a citizen of the Federation to remain silent on any details shared with me?"

He flinches just a little, and she shakes her head, holding a hand out.

"Forgive an old woman's grief, Captain."

"There's no need to apologize. While I can't confirm your suspicions, you would know Commander Stamets far better than I had the privilege."

Pike follows her gaze to the mantle, head tilted to the side. 

"I buried him once," Aida sighs, "Paul sat with him, you know. All night, so he wasn't alone. I wanted to bring him and Paul home again, after. For them to be together. But there weren’t any bodies.”

"I'm sorry. Doctor Culber told me they spent fourteen years together."

"They should have had decades."

"Professor," Pike gently takes her hand, "I...while I can't tell you exactly what happened, I wanted to ask- do you believe in taking a leap of faith?"

It's an unexpected question, but there doesn't seem to be any ulterior motive. He waits for her nod before continuing.

"I brought something for you. I can't let you keep it, but I think you'll want to see it. It needs to be kept in strictest confidence, ma'am. I can't explain why, but it's vital that you not speak of it to anyone."

"Captain Pike," she smiles, "you don't strike me as someone who readily breaks the rules."

"Your grandson, grand_sons_, wer- are extraordinary men."

"That's not an answer, Captain."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

His smile tucks itself into a dimple, and she can't help but be charmed by it. He reaches into his utility bag, pulls out a PADD and taps in a series of access codes before tossing a holo recording into the air in front of the couch. Aida is very glad of her chair in that moment.

"Begin playback," Pike murmurs. 

The image of Hugh, frozen with a tremulous smile, begins to speak.

_"Hi Abuelita. I- I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you this in person. We're...leaving. And I don't know that we can ever come back. Tracy- heh, Tracy said to tell you she'll look after me. Tell Mama and Dad that I love them, so much. And- I think I might have another chance. With Paul. I...I couldn't not try. I have to go now, but just...please don't worry about me. Thank you for everything, for always being there for me when I needed you. I'm going to miss you so much. I love you, Abuelita."_

The holographic Hugh blows a kiss before the recording ends, but she can barely see it through the tears filling her eyes.

"A- again, please."

Pike offers neither platitudes or questions, nodding silently as he plays the recording for her twice more. She stares into the holographic Hugh's eyes, his voice washing over her, trying to memorize each detail of his beloved face. 

"You knew Doctor Pollard."

His voice is quiet, respectful. She dabs at her cheeks, still staring at Hugh.

"Most people are lucky to have one truly faithful friend or a partner in all senses of the word. My Hugh had both." 

Pike gently takes her other hand, not squeezing or shaking, but simply holding it.

"I'm sorry I can't let you keep this."

"It is enough to see it. I- thank you Captain. I apologize for my earlier rudeness."

Pike's smile returns, and he shakes his head.

"You had every right. I can see where Doctor Culber gets it from, and I mean that as a compliment in every sense."

"I will take it as such."

"Would you like to see it again?"

She raises her hand, closing her eyes as her fingers pass through Hugh's ghostly form. 

"No. Thank you, for bringing my grandsons home."

"It was my privilege, Professor."

"Aida."

"Pardon?"

"You're a good man, Christopher Pike. My name is yours to use."

"I'm honored, Aida."

She sees him out, then floats back into the living room. Pike hadn't said so much as what was implied in his silences, but it's more than she thought she would live to hear. She picks up the holo from the table, turning the frame in her hands. In it, the cliffs of Cabo Rojo are illuminated in a fiery sunset, serving as a backdrop to Hugh and Paul sitting out on the back deck together, sharing the swing. The holo captured them turning to her with identical looks of surprise, probably being called in for dinner, Hugh cuddled into Paul's side and fingers entwined.

_Love._

Aida kisses the frame and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Companion to Chapter 69 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
> 
> Spock's log at the end of "Such Sweet Sorrow, Part Two" indicates it's been 120 days since Discovery's disappearance. Given that Pike was taking Enterprise out, I wanted to give him a couple of weeks to make it back to Earth. Also, I got to thinking that it's all fine and well to order Starfleet officers never to speak about Discovery, but what about their friends and family? Left purposely vague, but I had to include Aida knowing something was being hidden even if she wasn't sure what it might be.
> 
> I love writing Aida, but this is the first time I've tried to write directly from her perspective and not filtered through Hugh or Paul. Let me know what you think?


	139. Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***SPOILERS FOR S3E7 “Unification III”***
> 
> Paul tells Hugh about Tilly’s news.

The doors swish open and, as has been happening with great and wondrous frequency lately, he still isn’t prepared for the joy blanketing him at the sight of Hugh in their quarters.

_You thought you’d lost him forever. _

_Twice._

_Three times_.

Shaking his head, Paul lets the doors close behind him and surveys the room. 

The lights are at half, viewports partially opaqued, and the air is filled with the delicious smell of a freshly showered Hugh. He’s minorly disappointed to not have a chance to share that shower, but it’s more than made up for at the sight in front of him.

Hugh is sprawled across the bed on his stomach, staring intently at something on his PADD. He’s already in his pajamas, and Paul doesn’t bother controlling the urge to stare at the slope of his shoulders, tipping his head to the side to further admire the sleep pants faithfully draped over his shapely backside. His partner is also muttering to himself, but that trails off when he notices Paul standing there.

”Hi babe, you’re home early?”

”Mmhmm,” Paul bends down for a quick kiss hello, “told you I wasn’t working late nights.”

Something flickers across Hugh’s face, there and gone again between blinks. Quirking his lips, he drops to his knees next to the bed, putting them at the same level so Hugh doesn’t have to keep craning his head up.

“I know when I said that before, I didn’t do a very good job of keeping my promises.”

”You’ve changed.”

It’s not an accusation at all.

”I had my priorities in the wrong order.”

Setting the PADD aside, Hugh shifts his weight to one elbow and reaches out to tug Paul closer for another kiss.

”I could have done a better job of being less passive aggressive about it.”

“We’re both doing better at that, I think.”

Hugh rolls onto his back and scoots over, patting the duvet beside him. Taking the hint, Paul pulls off his boots and sits next to him. Unzipping his jacket, he tosses it onto a chair and unbuttons his pants before snuggling into Hugh’s side.

”So how was your day, sweetheart?”

“Well. Tilly wanted my opinion on something, and I’m not sure being honest was the best approach.”

He groans as Hugh’s fingers find their way into his hair, scratching gently.

”What’s ‘something’?”

”Saru is trying to fill the first officer spot.”

”Did she hear who the candidates are?”

”Just one.”

A thoughtful hum and the fingers still in thought until Paul pushes his head against Hugh’s hand to remind him to resume his petting.

”Who? And what opinion did you give her that you’re worried about?”

”I told her it would be really weird to take orders from her as my superior officer.”

Hugh freezes mid-scratch.

”...wait. Saru asked Tilly to be his first officer?”

”Mmhmm.”

”And your response was that you’d have a hard time seeing her in that position.”

”No, I didn’t say that, I just think it would be really strange, not that I didn’t think she wouldn’t make a good first officer.”

”But not yet?”

He ignores Paul’s pointed nudges, and Paul sighs when it’s apparent that Hugh’s too distracted to engage in idle petting.

”I didn’t say that either. I mean of course she’d need more training, but it’s...Tilly.”

”So?”

”Hugh, she’s half my age.”

”Do you think she’s not qualified?”

”I don’t know?”

Hugh rolls onto his side so they’re face to face.

”Okay. Would you trust her with your life?”

”What’s that got to do with it? Of course I would. I have already.”

“Does she stay calm in stressful situations and manage to think clearly?”

Paul chuckles.

”Did you just ask me to describe Tilly as calm?”

”You know what I meant.”

He untangles his hand from Paul’s hair, but before he can complain, Hugh’s shoving the same hand up his shirt to scratch his back.

“Mmmm...you have all night to stop that.”

”You didn’t answer the question.”

”Yes, she thinks clearly. Brilliantly and creatively, too.”

”And is she fair? Responsible? Familiar with the standards of Starfleet protocols?”

“Usually, and probably to a fault.”

“Well, sounds like first officer material to me.”

Hugh’s right, but-

”I hate it when you do that.”

“What? Ask you questions until you’ve answered your own?”

”That.”

”No you don’t.”

He pecks Hugh on the lips again, shaking his head.

”Should I tell Detmer and Owo and everyone? I’m not sure what they’ll think, but she’s going to need the support of the bridge crew to pull it off. Tilly didn’t say not to tell anyone else.”

”It can’t hurt then.”

Paul nods, combining the gesture with a nuzzle.

”I’ll message them in the morning, in case Tilly talks to anyone tonight.”

”Mmm. I always knew you were smart and not just pretty.”

Hugh emphasizes the statement by pinching Paul’s ass, grinning at his mock frown.

”Only for you.”

The next kiss lingers a bit longer, until Hugh elbows the PADD and yelps in surprise.

”What did you want to do tonight? Could watch a holo, or I’ve got a couple of reports to read if you’re going to do work.”

Stretching luxuriously, Paul sits up and lets Hugh retrieve his hand.

”I should shower. Thinking we could forget about work and go to bed early?”

Hugh drops the PADD on his nightstand and smiles.

”Are you propositioning me, Doctor Stamets?”

”Think I’m too tired for that tonight, Hugh,” he admits, “raincheck?”

”Snuggles?”

”Definitely.”

”Go on then,” he shoos Paul off the bed, “I’ll warm up the sheets for you.”

“Mmm. Can’t think of a better offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, disappointed when Hugh doesn’t appear in an episode, so I just wrote him in on my own :)


	140. Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Slight spoilers for S3E7***

It isn’t until Tilly is in the shower, of all places, mentally stumbling back over the surreal turn of events that it hits her. She stops with her hand halfway to the shampoo, the thoughts running in multiple directions coming back together into one.

_Huh_.

Aside from Saru’s out of the blue request, there’s something else flitting at the edge of her mind. Dispensing the shampoo and working it into suds in her curls, she narrows her eyes and carefully considers the evidence.

Once is remarkable but no guarantee of change, twice could be coincidental, but she’s fairly certain she’s seen more than three occurrences from Stamets of him being...well, nice isn’t the right word. Not exactly. 

First there was the war, and the stress of dealing with Lorca, that introduced her to him as a brilliant scientist with a short temper for incompetence and a painstaking attention to detail. She’d been intimidated by him, but seemed to have passed some sort of test because he never called her stupid like he did with most of the others. They’d grown closer making all of those jumps - Stamets insisted Tilly be the one at the spore console - and she’d seen flashes of it when he talked about Dr. Culber.

Then, after Dr. Culber died, Stamets’ grief was palpable, and she could only imagine how the suffocating weight of it must feel for him. He’d been obsessed with work, barely sleeping or eating as far as she could tell. When the war ended (and Lorca taken out of the picture), it felt like he was a shadow of a man, present but untethered with all of the things that made him himself washed out. 

Tilly rinses her hair and flips the shower to mist, leaning back on the wall and closing her eyes.

When they shipped back out on the run to Vulcan that ultimately ended up with Captain Pike and his mission, she’d been shocked to find that he intended to leave Discovery and abandon the spore drive. That more than anything told her how deeply wounded he was, retreating to an even further emotional distance that she could only sometimes bridge. He’d let her take care of him in small ways, but he’d shrunk in on himself, slamming shut all the doors just beginning to open.

After being kidnapped, transported to the mycelial network, and rescued together with Stamets’ not-so-dead partner, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Stamets smile so much. That was quickly lost again though, as he walked the ship with a different kind of detachment. It was harder to watch than the first bout of grief, honestly, because Dr. Culber was _alive_ and she - along with everyone else on the ship - expected him and Stamets to be joyously reunited with nothing but happiness. Instead, she found herself with someone who seemed to eat and sleep even less than before. He felt empty, drained, and she’d hated seeing them apart when it was obvious that they needed each other more than ever. 

She’d brought him to the medbay unsure if he would be alive the next time she saw him. Tilly had no idea Dr. Culber had stayed, not until she found him supporting Stamets on the way to the transporter room. Seeing them holding hands, well, she saved those tears of relief and excitement to mix with the ones on hugging Michael.

In this strange future, Stamets felt better and yet not, snapping at her suggestion of a dark matter coherent resonator in a way he never had directed at her before. Then there was that horrible dinner of Saru’s, the accusations and yelling that reminded her far too much of growing up and listening to her parents tear each other down over the table. He’d apologized to her, and ever since it was like the ballooning tension in him - in all of them - had popped, revealing someone she wasn’t sure she’d ever really met.

Stamets now is...softer isn’t quite the right word. Less snappish, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing into a slump that she hadn’t thought his spine capable of. There’s a lightness about him, more smiles for her and Adira in a few days than she’s seen from him in months. He seems to be present and grounded, focused on his science in a way that still leads to frustration but not the same sort of sharp and spiky irritability she’d gotten used to. 

Being around him and Dr. Culber these days too, the first morning he’d walked into Engineering in more than a year with a love bite peeking over his collar, she’d stuffed her head into the guts of one of the consoles just so he didn’t see her grinning like a maniac. 

_Is this the real Stamets_, she muses, _the way he was before the war, before everything?_

She sees now, more of the man Dr. Culber probably fell in love with, and she sees why. The curious scientist, idiosyncratic and obsessive, but with good humor. He’s much more easily willing to praise and encourage, the perpetual frown between his brows eased. And after his initial less-than-ideal reaction when she talked to him about her quandary yesterday, he’d organized their friends to offer their support en masse, offering sincere support and gentle teasing. 

Also hugs. She’s not sure she can get used to those. Especially when she can smell Dr. Culber’s cologne on his cheek.

_Anyway._

They’re all different now, herself included, but it feels like they’re probably going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is pretty much me stream-of-consciousness musing about Paul’s character development. ‘Development’ seems less descriptive than healing, maybe, but I really love Season Three Paul and the softer, sweeter side we’re seeing. It feels like more of who Anthony seems to be, and thus Stamets is more of ‘himself’ because of that.


	141. Sanguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keyla goes to the medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during S3E2. Not a comfortable piece.

Her ears are still ringing, the sounds of voices and equipment buzzing with a strange metallic echo, as she stumbles down the corridors towards the medbay. Keyla’s not sure if the ship is listing, or if it’s her balance, because she keeps finding herself moving off course and bumping into bulkheads she thought she was far enough away from. There’s a steady stream of people going to and from the medbay, the walking wounded like herself and others being wheeled in. No one seems to pay her any mind, too busy stabilizing limbs and running scans. 

She squints in the blue glow of emergency lights, vision doubling, but spots a familiar face in the corridor. Well, a familiar body - no one else in medical whites is built quite like Dr. Culber - with his back half turned to her. He’ll tell her what’s wrong with her head and fix it, right?”

“Do-“ she clears her throat and tries again, “Doctor C?”

The deck wobbles again, this time seemingly for everyone as she hears noises of surprise, and she closes her eyes against the nauseating roll.

”Keyla?”

“My head,” she says in his general direction, “I-“

”Keyla, go on in, someone can help you in just a minute.”

”But, can...why can’t you?”

”Detmer?”

Her eyes pop back open. That sounded an awful lot like Stamets, but he should be in Engineering...

She shakes her head to clear it, which is obviously a mistake since it makes her temples throb. When she focuses again, it’s to find Dr. Culber now turned to face her, Stamets cradled in his arms as if he weighs nothing. For his part, Stamets is shirtless - did she ever realize he was paler than her under that uniform? - with a nasty, jagged red scar swooping across his left pectoral.

“What...happened?”

”Shrapnel,” Dr. Culber frowns, and she watches him heft Stamets a little higher. His head is lolling against a blood-streaked white uniform, but she sees the way his hands cling to the doctor’s shoulders.

”Is- wha...I don’t. Can’t, feel weird.”

Dr. Culber and Stamets are both staring at her now. They all stagger as the ship groans again, and Stamets cries out when someone passing by bumps his side.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

Another jolt. Stamets whimpers, pushing his face into Dr. Culber’s neck.

”Keyla,” his voice is gentle but there’s an undertone of impatience that she hasn’t heard from the doctor before, “I’ve got my hands full, and I need to get him taken care of. Go on in, Zarrin can make sure you’re okay and probably patch you up.”

”...okay?”

He gives her a tight smile and turns away, but not before she sees him press his lips to Stamets’ forehead.

_But they weren’t even talking? Why’s he being so- why can’t he...?_

”Detmer,” Zarrin’s gripping her upper arm, peering at her with concern, “can you hear me?”

”Head hurts.”

A scanner hums by her ear and she flinches.

”Sorry. Should be clear - no concussion. Nasty cut though.”

Keyla swallows down another wave of nausea, palms clammy when she clenches her hands shut.

”Can you fix it?”

Zarrin gives her a smile, but she’s already looking over Keyla’s shoulder.

”Can’t, all the charged regens are being used. I’m running neuro tests, but someone can get that taken care of.”

_Why won’t anyone help me?_

She staggers forward at Zarrin’s nudge, arms wrapped around herself to keep her elbows from getting in someone’s way amidst the bustle. Alarms are going off, voices raised in pain, and it’s almost too much. There’s a quieter space in the corner past an empty biobed, and she heads towards it.

It takes her by surprise when her boot goes out from under her, sliding through something slippery on the deck. 

“Whoa!” that’s Nilsson, catching her by the shoulders, “careful.”

Keyla frowns at the reddish-brown streaks under her feet.

“...what? Is that...blood?”

”Yeah, unfortunately.”

”Who?”

It looks like an awful lot, even as two cleaning drones swoop in and start a sanitizing sweep.

”Stamets,” Nilsson sighs, “he’s okay though.”

The blue shimmer makes another pass over the puddle.

”Keyla?”

”What?”

”I need to go help, are you okay?”

”I- okay?”

Nilsson squeezes her shoulder and is off again. No one else seems to notice her, moving around her as if she’s a piece of equipment. Her head is starting to buzz again, but she can’t stop staring at the floor, at the blood spilled over it.

_Even the drones can’t clean it all up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a little insight into why Keyla chose Paul as her target at the disastrous dinner in episode four. She’s clearly very disoriented by the injury, enough that she doesn’t understand why no one seems to want to help her right then. Everything - Hugh’s seeming dismissal, Zarrin and Nilsson telling her they’re needed elsewhere, etc. - fixates in that moment, and boils over later.


	142. Starbase 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh’s put in charge of the medical unit on Starbase 12 during the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Discovery

There’s a hundred, a thousand places Hugh would rather be right now, and nowhere else in the universe at the same time. 

Around him, alarms and life support equipment and the sounds of surgery blend with the pained cries of the wounded. Too many patients, the neat wards set up two months ago overflowing and untidy. Not unsanitary, but the constant activity and turnover means there’s never a chance to return to quiet.

Starbase 12 is far closer to the front lines than Hugh wants to be. It’s also where he’s needed, the medical facility in his charge, his thirty-four staff fighting against time and the limits of physiological endurance to heal thousands of victims of this senseless war. Medical frigates, battered starships, and civilian vehicles alike crowd the base’s docking ring, offloading wounded and taking on what minimal supplies remain. If any of the Captains or indeed, the Admirals, onboard object to being snapped at by a Lieutenant Commander to _please get out of the way, sir_, no one’s dared complain to his face.

He’s been on his feet for thirty hours, sustained on nutrient drinks and protein cubes choked down with coffee. The influx of patients has slowed - it never, ever, stops - and his head nurse has just shoved him at the quietest corner and told him to sleep for two hours. Hugh knows better than to argue with her, and sinks to the deck with a groan. Making his way to his quarters is a waste of time he could be sleeping, the same as the rest of his staff. It’s precious little time, and he intends to make the most of it. 

His medical whites are liberally covered in blood and other substances, and he shucks off the jacket without a second thought, transferring his badge to his waist and folding the fabric into a compact bundle. Inside out, the worst of the mess is hidden, and it will have to do for a pillow. To his right, T’Vala opens her eyes, even her serene Vulcan expression during meditation fraying a little at the edges. She’s been awake for fifty hours, a feat that would leave any human on the edge of collapse. 

“Hugh.”

”Hi.”

T’Vala looks him up and down, then shifts over and hands him the folded blanket she’s been sitting on.

”I’m okay.”

”Refusing something that will enable you to take better rest is illogical.”

The arched brow says more than anything, and he accepts the offered item. Curling up under it, he puts his back to the wall and wedges his folded jacket under his head. He breathes in deeply, trying to force his muscles to relax when he feels too exhausted even to sleep. 

As he shifts, Paul’s Academy ring on its chain slides down to his shoulder, and he wraps his fingers around it automatically. The metal is body-warm, solid, comforting. 

“T’Vala?”

”I am here.”

Hugh doesn’t open his eyes or pull the blanket off his face, but he’d bet on her giving him a disapproving look for being awake.

”Is it illogical to worry about the safety of the shipyards at Utopia Planitia?”

”Yes.”

”Right.”

”It is not, however,” T’Vala continues, “illogical to be concerned with the safety of your mate given the situation.”

”I keep thinking, the Klingons could attack and he could be any of the patients brought in here. Or one who doesn’t make it,” Hugh swallows against the fear rising in his throat, “and I won’t know until it’s too late.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t get a reminder that it’s out of his control. Instead, she’s silent for a moment before replying.

”You would know.”

”...how?”

“Your bond remains intact.”

This time, he does pull the blanket down to look up at her. 

”I might be learning meditation, but I hate to remind you that I’m human and my psi-score is nowhere above average. I wish I had that sort of a telepathic link right now. I wish I knew what he was thinking even when we are together.”

”The depth of your connection does not require a mind link, and your physiology would not permit it. However, having observed your mutual dedication for several years, I can conclude that your sense of Paul remains correct.”

“Still not Vulcan.”

”There is a place in your mind where he resides.”

”I don’t-“

”You require sleep, Hugh. We may continue this conversation at a more opportune time.”

”But-“

“You would know were that bond to be broken. It is illogical to argue against a fact. Sleep, I will wake you in one point eight five hours.”

T’Vala’s eyes are closed, but she merely reaches over and covers his head again.

Hugh turns his focus inwards, opening the vault in his heart marked ‘Paul’ and carefully surrounding himself in memories of his love. Their warmth buffers him against the reality of war, and he can no longer resist the needs of his body.

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As referenced in When Sorrow Turns to Joy, in my take on canon, Hugh is made a temporary CMO to oversee the Starbase 12 medical facility during the war. He's accompanied by his Vulcan friend and fellow doctor T'Vala who, along with Tracy, has been subjected to far too much Culmets over the years to think that their relationship is anything but profound.


	143. Space (Dads)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** SPOILERS FOR S3E8 “SANCTUARY”***

It’s 0037 when Hugh makes it down to Engineering. He and Tracy still haven’t been able to pinpoint the cause of Georgiou’s...condition, but there’s nothing else either of them can do except let the computer keep running sims and get some sleep themselves. 

Paul’s blinking blearily, jacket unzipped, and Hugh resists the urge to slip his hands underneath and pull his partner into his arms while they’re technically still in uniform. He’s wearing a gentle smile, pride radiating from him as he heaps praise on Adira’s work. They’re passed out over a console, a reminder that they’re still so very young indeed.

Dimples showing, Paul tugs his jacket off and drapes it over Adira’s shoulders. Hugh remembers him doing the same for Hugh’s niece, fallen asleep over the science fair project “Tio Paul” was helping her finish, and his heart swells with affection at the gesture. Then as now, Paul’s eyes shine with a certain proprietary satisfaction, a need to show off their work to Hugh with excitement. Even more than Tilly, Adira is bringing out the patient, nurturing side of his partner that he’s only been able to witness rarely.

_He’s made for this._

Although he’d argued for them not to be disturbed, he’s glad of it when Adira stirs and makes their way out of Engineering after bidding them a goodnight. It’s just him and Paul left, the ever-present hum of equipment nearly inaudible with augmented technology. 

”Pride,” he teases gently, “it suits you.”

Paul tips his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turned up in a sweet smile that makes Hugh fall in love with him all over again for the millionth time.

”Is that your professional opinion?”

The husky, playful tone still makes his stomach flip all these years later.

“Board certified,” he grins, leaning forward to meet Paul’s lips with a quick kiss.

Surrendering to temptation, he slides his hand under the hem of Paul’s undershirt, giving his bare waist a squeeze. With his other hand, he gestures grandly at the stairs.

”Shall we, Commander?”

“After you, Doctor.”

Hugh walks up the stairs first, the nearly empty corridor echoing with his steps. 

“They may be something, sweetheart, but you’re one of a kind.”

”Yeah?”

”My kind.”

Waiting for the turbolift, Paul turns to face him, free hand stealing up to caress his cheek.

”All yours.”

It’s past midnight, so he doesn’t think anyone is going to care if he and Paul are holding hands all the way back to their quarters.

”Come on, Mister I’m Terrible With Kids.”

Paul doesn’t protest otherwise. It might be exhaustion, but Hugh thinks his smile says everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, watching our SpaceBoos become SpaceDads? I am dead.
> 
> I was so worried this episode wasn’t going to give us any Culmets based on the preview and promo photos. Literally squeaked at that kiss. This is the content that makes my heart happy!
> 
> Read the prologue to this in Chapter 145, which tells the story of Paul with Hugh's niece.


	144. So...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-only bit of naughty fluff based on the first five lines during a conversation with my bestie :D

"Hey Hugh?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Umm. So I want to try this thin- what are you doing?"

"Getting naked."

"I didn't even tell you what it is yet."

"Do we have to have clothes on for it?"

"...no."

"I hope it doesn't involve anything that's going to sprain your ankle this time?"

"That was an accident!"

"Explaining that to Tilly while I was carrying you to the medbay was awkward."

"Yeah. Anyway..."

"Computer, privacy protocol. Do not disturb."

_ **"Acknowledged."** _

"So, tell me more?"

"How am I supposed to think when you're doing that?"

"Sorry."

"Uh huh."

"Focus, sweetheart, I want to hear this."

"I'm going to sit on your hands if you don't stop."

"Promise?"

"Next time."

"Mmm. Okay."

"So..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine this level of comfort in a relationship.


	145. Space (Dads), Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory for the moment with Hugh's niece mentioned in Chapter 143 "Space (Dads)".

"Nella, how are things go-"

"Shhh."

Hugh is pulled up short by Paul waving his hand in a quelling motion, taking a step back so Hugh can see past him. At the kitchen table, his niece Antonella is fast asleep with the soil sampler still clutched in her hand, Paul's sweater draped over her shoulders. In front of her, the nutrient extraction project she's working on for the science fair sits under growth lights, a series of hand-scribbled notes visible on the PADD under her elbow.

He'd brought Paul home for a couple of weeks around Christmas, and as usual, Antonella and her brother were inseparable from Tío Paul once he started talking about plant growth. Hugh's pretty sure their linguistics and resonance dynamics parents have nothing to do with their current obsession with all things botany. She'd dragged Paul off to see her project three hours ago, leaving Hugh in front of the fireplace with his grandmother. Aida hadn't said anything, but her smile widened the moment Nella grabbed Paul's hand.

****

_"Those kids barely say hi to me at the holidays now," he laughs, no complaint in his voice at all, "they just want Paul."_

_Aida refills both of their mugs, wiping up a drip of cider from the table._

_"He's good with children." _

_"He doesn't think so."_

_They both turn towards the kitchen as Nella's voice rises excitedly, followed by Paul only marginally less so._

_"Remember what you told me about what you thought he should be doing?"_

_"...yes? A professo- oh."_

_Paul really ought to be teaching, more than just the interns in the lab._

_"He'd make a good father."_

_"Was that a hint?"_

_"Of course not, just an observation."_

_Hugh watches the steam rise off his drink, eyes gone distant._

_"Someday."_

****

"So, Doctor Stamets," Hugh is careful to whisper, "how is the project going?"

Paul grins, beaming with unmistakable pride.

"Your niece is going to make a great scientist. She's-"

An alarm goes off, and Nella sits up almost comically fast, Paul's hand already out to catch the PADD and sampler from falling off the table.

"Oops."

"Hi Nellita."

His niece gives him a distracted smile, already reclaiming the device from Paul to take a new sample at the base of the plant stalks. She frowns, tapping at the PADD.

"What do you see?"

Paul's voice is quiet, not patronizing in the slightest.

_Treating her as an equal._

He leans his hip and shoulder on the doorframe, watching.

"...the one on the left, absorbed more of the micronutrients. But the one on the right, the red, used more water."

"How does that work with your hypothesis?"

"I said," Nella pauses to yawn, "that the purple ones had a more efficient metabolism. Oh! Does that mean I'm right?"

Paul's smile is full of pride, but he wrestles it back into a serious expression.

"Maybe. But remember, you have to take at least three samples from different places, and repeat it."

"Oh."

"And there might be other reasons, but we can talk about those in the morning. I think your Tío Hugh is here to tell us it's time for bed."

"Hugh's not," Aida's voice drifts in from the living room, "but your grandmother is. Past bedtime, Nellita, even for the project."

Nella's scowl is adorable, and she pouts as both Paul and Hugh give her matching expectant looks.

"Yes, Abuela!"

Hugh hides his amusement by coughing into his sleeve. She takes two more samples from different locations, then carefully sets the PADD down along with the sampler.

"Will you help me in the morning, Tío?"

Paul glances over at Hugh, a vaguely guilty look on his face as he picks up his sweater. Hugh had promised him a lazy morning in bed, but he could hardly keep his partner locked away upstairs when there's science on the line. He gives Paul a nod, shaking his head and smiling as he turns back to Nella.

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Anthony's amazing acting in S3E8 with Adira (and Hugh). Three stories in one day, I blame Culmets.
> 
> Is anyone else having an issue with missing/delayed AO3 notifications?


	146. Straightforward

_**> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett** _

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Congrats again Keyla, you've got your magic back! Even if you're going to be insufferable :P_

_[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] That was some impressive flying, I think she deserves a week of bragging._

_[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Think Linus has any...beverages we could celebrate with?_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Tracy and I are not dispensing hangover cures this time. Keep that in mind..._

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Game Night tonight? We can celebrate! That was badass, Keyla._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] About time someone gets that woman a drink. _

**_> Private message to Culber, Hugh_ **

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Adira told me something, but I don't think anyone else onboard knows._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Is she okay?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] They, not she._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] ?_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Oh. Okay. _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] They're worried about it?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Not sure they know who they are right now. _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I can relate. Should I talk to them?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Don't think Adira is ready for that yet. _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Got it. Think they'll want to come to Game Night, get to know everyone else? That might help._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Good idea. Do I tell everyone? They really don't like being called "she"._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Did Adira ask you not to say anything? No one's going to make a big deal out of it._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] No, I know that, they just said they hadn't told anyone besides Gray._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Trust your instincts, babe._

_ **> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett** _

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Okay to invite Adira to Game Night?_

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Sure! She seems really smart. How old is she - 19?_

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] 16. She's really smart. It's a little scary._

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Oh come on Tilly, you know you were just like her at that age._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Adira's amazing. More creative than me, actually._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Pronoun update btw. They._

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Oops :( Got it._

_[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Cool._

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Bring them, it'll be fun to have someone new._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] What's that? The Mushroom Lord admits he's met his match? _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Tilly graduated to the bridge, Paul needs someone new to obsess over his crazy ideas with :D They're perfect for that._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Aren't you supposed to be in surgery or something?_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Someone has to be the responsible adult in this conversation._

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] I mean technically, shouldn't that be Jett? She outranks us._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Oh hell no. Have Stamets do it, he's oldest._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] ...no I'm not._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] What?_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Just checked the files. Sorry Jett, he's right._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Must have been the weight of pretending to be a tough guy that makes you look older._

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Wait, how old ARE you Stamets?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Six months younger than Reno._

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Hah!_

_[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] Careful Keyla, he's about to burst your bubble._

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Nah, Grumpy Stamets is a thing of the past._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Wait, what?!?_

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Dr. C, how old is he?_

_ **> Private message from Culber, Hugh** _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Do you not want people to know?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's in my file, she could look it up. _

_ **> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett** _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Sorry Keyla, I don't want to sleep on the floor tonight._

_[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] Oh man. _

_[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Ouch. He wouldn't, would he?_

_ **> Private message from Culber, Hugh** _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You wouldn't, right? <sad face>_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I expect you in bed later, Doctor._

_ **> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett** _

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Personal space mean anything to you guys?_

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Nope. _

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] What's that?_

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] He wants to kiss you, that's his problem._

_[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] No._

_[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Sorry, that's a no._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I've changed my mind. I don't want Adira exposed to this...rabble._

** _> Private message from Detmer, Keyla_ **

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Sorry, I wasn't trying to start something._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I know. We're good._

_ **> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett** _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Too late, I sent them a message already and they're excited about it._

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Yay! Do they play kadis-kot?_

_[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Recruiting, Jo?_

_[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Obviously._

_[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] See you all at 2030?_

_[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Yep._

_[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Sure._

_[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] Sounds good. _

_**> Private message from Culber, Hugh** _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Are you pouting, love?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] No._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You totally are. Do I need to come kiss it and make it better?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Yes._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Ten minutes, cultivation bay?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's a date._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I struggled a little here, because pronouns are important to Adira and as we can see from the episode, it's a very sensitive matter. Ergo, Paul wouldn't betray a confidence (although I think he tells Hugh everything), but he would also see that hearing "her" and "she" from people makes them uncomfortable. This felt like a plausible solution that remained respectful, and reflected future attitudes that it's completely accepted once pointed out. 
> 
> Nilsson is the only one of the bridge crew we don't have a first name for. As I've done with the folks in Medical, going with Sara Mitich's first name until we learn otherwise. Rhys is referencing Saurian brandy if that wasn't clear :) 
> 
> Borrowing Tig Notaro's birthday, she really is just six months older than Anthony. Also, where the heck has Reno been?!


	147. Scrutiny

Adira is still figuring out this new life they’re making for themself, aboard a starship from the last millennium with people who still used synthesizers instead of replicators and boggled at personal transporters. They’re all very nice, so far as Adira can tell, but it’s instinct to be wary of so many strangers. Especially now, with Gray’s cheerful voice gone silent.

They do what they do best - watch, listen, and learn. 

They watch Tilly manipulate a holographic model of the mycelial network and listen to her muttering about harmonics.

They learn that Captain Saru, despite his imposing height, is far less intimidating than most shorter beings when he comes to ask Adira about this planet or that nebula.

They watch Stamets, when he’s working and eating and discussing experiments with Tilly.

They listen to Doctor Pollard talk to Doctor Culber about new grafting techniques when they’re in the medbay for another scan of their symbiont.

They learn that the doctors have known each other for longer than Adira has been alive, and wonder what it’s like to have that kind of connection for so long.

Mostly though, they watch Stamets and Culber together. They listen to the two of them talk about work, then, in quieter voices, about concerns for the rest of the crew. They learn that they don’t use each other’s first names while on duty, that Doctor Culber smiles a lot, and that the way they look at each other feels like something almost sacred.

Adira doesn’t understand what it is they feel when Stamets drapes his jacket over them in Engineering. They can’t quite put a finger on it, the peculiar way Stamets’ eyes crease at the corners when he’s talking to Culber about Adira. 

They lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Stamets and Culber remind them of the sense of wholeness they felt - they _feel_ \- with Gray, but there’s more to it than that. Adira can’t explain why, just that they know Stamets is safe, is someone they can trust. Gray liked him, which is a good endorsement because their boyfriend is a good judge of character. And Stamets seems to hear them, see them, in a way that they’re not used to. 

They’ve been an orphan for as long as they can remember, just Gray and their dreams together the only safe harbor in an endless universe. 

Today though, they don’t feel quite so alone. They think that just maybe, this is a place they’ll be able to call home someday.


	148. Solo

Reno twirls her wedding band around her index finger, ostensibly waiting for a scan to finish but mostly sitting in a Jefferies tube to think.

Stamets and Culber remind her - sometimes painfully - of her wife. She misses her with an ache that no hypospray can ease, still forgets sometimes and goes to send her a witty insult or random thought. 

There’s no resentment at the universe for taking the woman she loved but giving Hugh Culber back. How could she, when Stamets’ quiet grief was so chillingly familiar? She’s seen the same face in the mirror, of a person slowly bleeding to death inside when their heart has been torn away. 

No, she’s not angry. But she can’t stand by and watch them walk away from each other because they’re so convinced that they’re only causing the other pain. 

Her wife would have laughed in delight after her conversation with Culber about second chances.

_Jett, they’re adults. They’d have figured it out eventually without you sticking your nose in. _

They might have, or they might have never been able to if Culber hadn’t chosen to stay.

The universe gave them a third chance. 

She’d give anything for a second. 

She’s glad they’ve decided to put each other first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure where exactly I was going with this, but here we are.


	149. Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet conversation in the afterglow is a moment for vulnerability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Paul's log entry as part of the series of logs posted by CBS. Set quite early in their relationship.

"I'm imagining you now, the kid who always had to be the first in class, get all the questions right. Your parents must have been really proud of that."

There's no judgment in Hugh's voice, just a little teasing and a lot of affection. They're enjoying the afterglow, comfortably loose-limbed, and Hugh's just finished telling the story of the scar on his shoulder. Paul's lying across the bed sideways, head pillowed on Hugh's chest, humming in contentment at the fingers in his hair, scratching gently. His boyfriend (and Paul still gets a thrill every time he thinks of Hugh as _mine_) smiles down at him, warm caramel skin still flushed at the cheeks. Paul raises a lazy hand, thumb rubbing the rather impressive love bite he left on Hugh's throat, and watches that smile widen. 

This thing between them is so new, so...wonderful, that Paul sometimes has to stop and remind himself that it's reality. Hugh's everything Paul isn't - comfortable with strangers, handsome and charming in contrast to his own awkward attempts at conversation with people he doesn't know well. He's so generous and strong and _kind_ that Paul couldn't have wished for a better partner even if he designed him himself, endlessly patient with Paul's idiosyncrasies and appreciative of his blunt honestly.

That being said, there are times like this, when Hugh says things that so casually make it clear his own relationship with his parents is vastly different than Paul's, that he feels self-conscious all over again.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

He's been silent for too long, and Hugh's peering at him with curiosity bordering on concern. 

"Nothing."

Paul attempts a reassuring smile, but it clearly fails spectacularly.

"Okay," Hugh sits up, cradling Paul's head to a soft landing in his lap, "now I know something's up. Was it too rough, I didn't...hurt you did I? I'm sor-"

"No!"

He pushes himself upright as well, the pleasant soreness between his legs a reminder of what they'd been doing ten minutes ago and most decidedly not anything he's unhappy with.

"Paul?"

_Great, now you've got him worried._

He knows already that Hugh doesn't like to use his name, prefers one of the half-dozen terms of endearment that he seems to be testing to find which one they both like the most (he thinks _sweetheart_ is his favorite so far, but _beautiful_ and _Doctor Stamets_ are a close second, the latter said when he knows he's being humored).

"You didn't hurt me," he hastens to reassure him, fingers tracing down Hugh's cheek, "you never have. No, I just..."

Some of the worry fades as Hugh reels him in, pulling Paul onto his lap.

"Just what?"

"My parents, I- we're not close. They're really good people, I don't mean that, just...you know how people can love you, but maybe aren't the greatest at showing it?"

Hugh nods along with a look of understanding.

"Yeah. Unfortunately."

"I was a good student. I liked school, and I enjoyed learning, but...it wasn't all because of that. My dad- he worked a lot. All the time. And he'd get home late and when he did make it for dinner or on the weekends, he just seemed so tired that it was like he wasn't really listening. And he didn't mean to be that way, but he didn't have time for us, because he was so busy."

"I'm sorry, love."

He leans into the kiss Hugh presses to his lips.

"It's fine, really. Just, what you said... it felt like the only time I knew he was really _there_, really paying attention and listening, was when I brought home a test or a report card, something that proved how smart I was. He didn't really care if I played sports or music or made a lot of friends. But if I got an A-plus, a good grade...then, he'd stop and just, just look at me. See me. And he'd listen, for a little while."

"So you pushed yourself even harder because of that."

"Yeah. It's funny," Paul laughs, a little sadly, "I defended both of my dissertations, and he said 'good job Paul, proud of you son'. He never really understood why I was interested in mycology, but that one moment? It meant more than it probably should have. More than the degrees."

"It meant exactly what it should have," Hugh murmurs, "to get that recognition. Validation. That's not something that I think people understand just how important it is for others. I'm sorry he didn't see that."

He shakes his head, not negating it, but trying to clear his thoughts. 

"It's the past."

Hugh's palm is warm on his cheek, turning his face to look him in the eyes.

"Paul Stamets. You're brilliant, and your science is...amazing. And I love that about you, but it's not the most important thing. It's all of you, sweetheart. Every piece, every thing about you that makes you who you are...it's beautiful. Even the parts you don't like about yourself."

Licking his lips, he tries to put into words the feelings chasing themselves around his heart.

"You see me, Hugh. All of that- no one else ever has, not and still liked it. You make me feel like, I just...thank you."

"Thank _you_ for being who you are."

The kiss they share is gentle and sweet, and his eyes shouldn't be stinging from that simple statement, but they are. 

"I love you."

He means it every time he says it, but right now it feels like _more. _And he thinks Hugh understands, because his other hand comes up to curve around the back of Paul's neck.

"I love you too. And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

"I know."

_****Below transcribed from linked Instagram post_****

[ _Commander Paul Stamets, personal log_ ](https://www.instagram.com/p/CIgXz1TonO1/)

_I had this moment with Adira today. I feel like I should be talking about how they opened up to me, but what I'm thinking about, instead, is a staircase_

_When I was a kid there was this spot at the top of the stairs where I'd sit in my pajamas holding a test score or report card hoping my dad would come home before bedtime, because the **only** time he actually looked me in the eye - saw me in any way - is when I showed I was smart, like him._

_Usually he'd be working too late, but I'd wait as long as I could, just counting the fibers in that section of carpet. Seven thousand, four hundred and sixty-one._

_I'm not Adira's dad, of course. But whatever I am, I want them to know I see them. Not just because they're smart, but for **all** the other things they are too. They deserve to feel that. We all do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <https://www.instagram.com/p/CIgXz1TonO1/>
> 
> I listened to that log entry and just had so many, many feelings about Paul and his upbringing. It makes so much sense why he is the way he is - always driven, striving for better, perfect - because of his childhood. And I think with Adira, he's got the chance to make a difference for them in all the ways he wishes he had from his own father.


	150. Story

Their first kiss is at the end of their first official date, nervous even after months of comms since their meeting in the café.

Hugh leans forward, slowly closing the distance between them and enthralled by the kaleidoscope of blues and greys in Paul’s eyes.

Paul’s eyes flutter shut and he can hear him holding his breath as their lips meet, soft and testing the physical aspect of their undeniable connection.

****

The first kiss is followed by a second, and a third, and a dozen kisses later Hugh thinks, _I could fall in love with this man._

****

Their two hundred and eighty-fifth kiss is one of many the first time they make love.

It’s wet and messy and perfect.

Paul’s gazing up at him with lust, but between the gasped curses and moans, something deeper beckons.

Hugh’s lost, and he doesn’t want to be found again.

****

Their second to last kiss is on the floor of the medbay, Paul rocking Hugh’s lifeless body in his arms.

It’s a plea, a promise, salty with tears and bitter with devastation.

****

Their last kiss is in the network, Paul’s hair under Hugh’s hands and his breath on his cheek.

Hugh puts all of his love, everything he’s ever felt for him into the way their lips touch.

He expects to take the memory of it into oblivion.

****

The moment Hugh realizes he can’t remember what it felt like to kiss Paul, he wonders why he’s bothering to try and survive in the not-existence of the network at all.

****

Their second first kiss is in the commotion of a crash-landed Discovery. 

He smells like soot and he’s so beautiful it almost hurts.

Paul’s lips taste like the antiseptic used to clean his superficial cuts, chapped and dry. 

Hugh’s never tasted anything sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do something special for Chapter 150(!!!), and hope this fits the bill.
> 
> I’m also starting to run out of non-repeated words that begin with S to name the chapters. What started as a coincidence turned into a thing, and I can’t abandon it now.


	151. Swimsuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Propositioning an attractive stranger in front of their partner usually doesn't end well.

A whistle.

Tracy looks up, takes the whistler in with one glance from head to toe, and suppresses a laugh. 

She and Hugh are in Sydney for a week-long medical conference, and Paul joined them early yesterday morning. This time, kicking Hugh out of their shared room after breakfast was done with good humor as he booked a new room three floors up on the other end of the hotel for the two of them. 

Paul's currently decked out in a tshirt and shorts, sporting a hat to keep the UV rays at bay along with an oversized tube of sunblock. He's also sitting mostly in the shade, which Tracy would think is overkill if she hadn't seen him turn lobster-red after falling asleep on the back deck of Aida's house last summer. Hugh, on the other hand, is laying out in the full sun and wearing the briefest pair of neon blue swimming trunks on this side of public decency. With the waistband riding below his obliques, he's been attracting quite a few appreciative stares _("Are you carrying your communicator in there?" "Shut up, Trace.")_. She'd accuse him of wanting attention, if she hadn't seen him in less revealing trunks the past couple of days before Paul's arrival. 

No, these are definitely meant for Paul's enjoyment.

More to the point - and why she's both relieved and horribly amused that their room is nowhere near hers - Hugh's inner thighs just below his groin are darkened with what look suspiciously like bite marks, and she's fairly certain she saw scratches on Paul's back before he put his shirt on after swimming. Since they're not keeping her awake, she's firmly on the indulgent side of things today, margarita in hand and reading a text comm from her cousin when the afternoon's entertainment shows up.

The guy's probably a little younger than them, looks like he hits the gym and nothing about him sets off her alarm bells. He's got his shirt tucked in his back pocket, bronzed skin and dark hair that's just a bit too artfully tousled to be accidental, and what qualifies as a charming smile in several species as he saunters closer. Hugh's been smiling pleasantly since the whistle got his attention, his sunglasses hiding what's likely an unhealthy dose of amusement.

"Good luck," she mutters, watching his swagger increase.

He stops a polite two feet away from Hugh's chaise, one hand in his pocket and the other shading his eyes from the sun.

"Hello."

"Hi. Can I help you?"

"Oh, I think so. Nice to meet you, I'm-"

Tracy's too busy turning her laugh into a fake cough and misses the guy's name.

"Hugh, nice to meet you too."

"What brings you here...Hugh?"

Hugh sits up the rest of the way, taking off his sunglasses.

"How do you know I'm not a local?"

"I'm sure I'd remember seeing someone as cute as you before."

"Ahh. Well, I'm here for the med conference downtown. Sydney's a lovely city."

Paul's still reading, the picture of indifference.

"Oh, you're a doctor?"

"When it's not my day off, sure."

Most people would probably pick up on the polite disinterest in Hugh's lack of questions in return, but observation doesn't seem to be one of Mr. Bronzer's skills.

"Mmm. So, Hugh...I was thinking."

"Oh, you were?"

"What do you say to maybe going dancing," the guy jerks his chin towards the restaurant across the beach, "and dinner? I'd love to get to...know...you better."

There's enough suggestiveness trailing off the sentence to make even a Vulcan blush. On Hugh's other side, Tracy watches Paul lower his PADD and push his hat up to get a better look at whoever it is propositioning his partner. He doesn't seem the slightest bit worried.

"Mmm. I do have plans already though with someone."

A pout, that's not as cute as the guy must think it is.

"Are they fluent in four languages?"

Hugh tilts his head to the side.

"Why?"

"Because I've been told I have a very talented tongue."

Paul makes eye contact with Tracy and rolls his eyes.

"I see."

"Not yet, but I'm happy to arrange a demonstration."

"Well. I don't usually wander off to go dancing with just anyone. Early morning tomorrow, so I can't stay out late."

"That's a shame. I'm sure I could help you sleep very soundly."

Hugh hums thoughtfully, seemingly considering the offer.

"You've convinced me."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm," Hugh leans forward, and she's pretty sure he's flexing his pecs just a little, "I know what I'm doing later."

"Do tell."

"Going to be flat on my back being fucked senseless by the hottest guy I've ever met."

The guy preens, and Tracy sets down her PADD, losing all pretense of doing anything but waiting for the punchline. 

"Hottest guy, ehh?"

"Definitely. I get hard just looking at him."

_TMI,_ she mouths at Paul, who shrugs.

"I'm flattered."

Hugh feigns surprise, eyebrows rising.

"Why?"

The guy blinks at him.

"Why what?"

"Why are you flattered, when I'm talking about him?"

Hugh points at Paul over his shoulder with his thumb. Paul puts on his best shit-eating grin and waves at the stranger.

"Hi."

Silence. Then-

"...seriously? His scrawny pale ass is gonna fuck you better than me?"

The amusement in Hugh's eyes dims. Flirting with him is one thing - she's watched him gracefully decline on more than one occasion - insulting Paul though...

"Twice. And I love his pale ass."

Mr. Bronzer takes a step back at Hugh's suddenly cold smile.

"I-"

"I'd leave now, if I were you," Tracy suggests pleasantly, "I'm sure there's plenty of other people's partners you can hit on."

"Ummm."

His eyes dart between the three of them before he mumbles something and walks off quickly.

"Well that was awkward," Paul mutters, "but did you really have to talk about our sex life?"

Tracy blinks.

"Sorry babe."

"No, I mean...nevermind."

"What?"

Paul points her direction.

"Tracy's sitting here."

Hugh doesn't look impressed.

"So?"

"Stamets, I've walked in on you two. In the supply closet at Medical. Naked. I don't think there's anything else you can do to embarrass me."

He squirms a little.

"ButwhatifIwannagetfuckedlater?"

It takes a second for Tracy's brain to parse the sentence.

_Yep, you heard that right._

"Okay," she stands, pointing at them both, "I'm going to get another margarita while you two decide whose turn it is. When I get back, we're discussing where to have dinner, and I'll even ignore you two playing footsie under the table if you _don't_ tell me what you're going to do in bed tonight."

Shaking her head, she heads off towards the bar.

_Men._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Prax for encouraging me to write this.
> 
> If you've never seen Wilson in swimwear...get thee to Google.


	152. (Hello) Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR S3E9 “TERRA FIRMA, PART ONE” ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains copious mentions of blood and some very disturbing implications.

Paul falls to the deck, blood gushing from his neck, a terrible gurgling as he tries to breathe.

Only decades of survival in the cesspool of Imperial service keep Hugh from leaping to his feet and attempting to gut the Emperor the moment it happens. 

_You’re no good to him if you’re dead too._

Instead, he starts counting.

_Five minutes._

Paul is still twitching, and Hugh mentally wills him to remember what to do. He gets to thirty, saluting the Emperor and staring straight ahead as she sweeps from the room. With luck, she’ll be so focused on taking revenge on Burnham, that he’ll have the time he needs.

_Fifty._

Paul’s hands fall to the deck, breath rattling. The pool of blood spreading around him is impressively large, but it’s slow enough for him to know the stab probably only nicked the artery. His armor should compress the circulation enough, but only if Hugh isn’t delayed further. 

The Emperor isn’t usually that careless with her aim.

_Stop struggling, _he mentally wills him even as Hugh pastes a sneer on his face.

”Suppose I’ll clean up the mess,” he announces with an appropriate tone of sadistic satisfaction.

No one’s retreating back seems to care as he swaggers across the deck.

_Ninety-seven._

Landry smiles at him before leaving, and he breathes an invisible sigh of relief. As far as she’s concerned, he and Paul would like nothing more than to see the other dead. She’ll likely tell Detmer what she saw, Detmer will mention it to Rhys, and the word that Culber is dragging Stamets’ body off should be plenty of cover. For all they know, he’s going to dissect the corpse or - if the rumors he’s carefully started spread - they might even assume he’s going to fuck it.

_Nothing like an appropriately cultivated reputation._

Hugh’s no more a sadist than he truly has to be, but the only one who knows that is bleeding out at his feet.

”Oh Stamets,” he shakes his head and tsks for the benefit of the few junior officers who have yet to leave, “how the mighty have fallen.”

Licking his lips, he kneels and, with his body blocking Paul from view, slips his fingers under the bloodstained collar. The pulse is weak and thready, but it’s enough.

_One hundred fifteen._

”Beam this to my private lab,” he instructs a lingering guard, “I’m going to have so much fun.”

********

The last thing Paul remembers after the Emperor’s blade slices through the flesh of his neck is the sickeningly warm rush of his own blood as he falls. He’s failed, yes, but that’s all secondary.

_Hugh._

He’s dimly aware of her still speaking, the roar of salutes, but his ears are ringing too much. His vision grays out at the edges, but trying to staunch the wound is futile.

_If you ever get stabbed, _Hugh’s gentle voice echos in his mind, _make it look worse than it is. They’ll assume you’re already gone and stop attacking. Then you can escape._

Paul fights against his own instincts, even as he starts to lose the feeling in his limbs. He can’t hold on.

_Hugh,_ he thinks, _I’m sorry._

********

_One hundred forty-two._

The first thing Hugh does when they materialize in his private lab is activate the sound dampening field. Ostensibly, he had it installed to keep the screams of anyone unlucky enough to meet with his displeasure from disturbing his work. In reality, it’s been the cover for more than one very illicit meeting with the man now lying motionless on his exam table. Neither of them were reckless enough to give in to their baser instincts outside the marginal safety of their quarters, but having a few minutes to share a kiss or gentle touch on a terrible day was beyond price.

The second thing he does is grab a scanner and a hypo of tri-ox. He knows better than to tear open Paul’s collar until he knows the extent of the damage, injecting his thigh instead. 

_One hundred eighty-nine._

Paul’s lost a significant amount of blood, but his heart hasn’t stopped and there’s still enough brain activity. Working quickly, he waits for the scanner to confirm what he suspects, then grabs a laser scalpel and regen.

It’s brutal, messy work, and he doesn’t stop to put on gloves or set up a sterile field as he opens the wound wider and inserts his fingers to apply pressure. He doesn’t dare use any equipment that’s logged, which rules out all of the larger regens and synthesizers. Infection’s the least of their worries right now as he contains the bleeding with his bare hand while he repairs the damage. Until he can get fresh blood for Paul, he’s going to need all of whatever he has left.

Once the artery is repaired, he pauses to take a quick holo and ‘accidentally’ route it through the system on its way to his files that he knows is being monitored. If anyone’s not watching the spectacle with Burnham, the image of him with his bloodied fingers in Paul’s neck, straddling his body with his other hand down his own pants ought to be sufficient misdirection. 

Eventually, Paul's stable, but he doesn’t dare rouse him until he decides what to do next. He injects a sedative to keep his vitals low enough to avoid detection by a casual (or even a thorough) scan. Ideally, he’d put Paul in stasis, but if anyone notices that it might stretch his credibility too far. Hugh can only hide Paul’s survival for so long, and he needs to figure out a way to get them both off Discovery alive.

********

The air is warm around him, the muted beeps and hum of a ship at warp entering his consciousness. Paul opens his eyes the barest amount, trying to take stock of his surroundings. He seems to be naked, wrapped in a blanket and strapped to the back bench of a shuttlecraft. The Discovery insignia on the cabin wall comes into focus just as he hears footsteps approaching. 

_Fuck.   
_

The lack of clothing means none of his weapons or poisons is within reach, and if it’s one of Lorca’s loyalists they probably don’t like him much right now either after blowing their best chance to kill the Emperor. Paul's not above begging for his life - they probably already think he’s a coward anyway - but he doesn’t have much to offer besides his knowledge of the Charon’s specs. Once that information is tortured out of him, whoever it is has no reason to keep him alive unless they’re interested in humiliating him or keeping him as some sort of pet. He could offer his body, but that’s also a moot point given that he’s already restrained, hands bound to his sides with thick leather straps and ankles hobbled.

As the footsteps stop at his side, the air currents shift and a very familiar scent fills his lungs. He doesn’t dare to hope yet, but his heart climbs into his throat.

_Please, please, please let it be him._

There’s a hundred ways even if it is, that he’s still not safe. No one should be aware of the extent of their relationship, but it could very well be that he’s been tasked with keeping Paul alive at the behest of someone else.

_Please, gods of old Terra..._

Fingers caress his temple, too gently to be something they would ever do in the presence of anyone else. He slowly opens his eyes to find the one person in the entire universe that he could have wished for smiling down at him.

”Hello, sweetheart.”

_*** Read [Goodbye, Sweetheart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977535) and When Sorrow Turns to Joy ([here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932235/chapters/56893354) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932235/chapters/65872042)) for my take on Mirror!Culmets. ***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...never, EVER expected to see Mirror!Hugh.
> 
> Ever.
> 
> Still recovering from the eyeliner and that red uniform.
> 
> I don’t know what next week will bring in Part 2, but this is my attempt to keep the canon divergence in line with my thoughts on Mirror!Culmets as written in [Goodbye, Sweetheart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977535). Depending on where things go, I might write a part two or even break this out as a stand-alone. We’ll see.
> 
> (Also, I thought the door was a plot device to send Georgiou back in time for the Section 31 spinoff. Now, I wonder if it’s going to be a lesson to her that she can’t save her universe’s Michael.)


	153. Swimsuit, Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Paul's currently decked out in a tshirt and shorts, sporting a hat to keep the UV rays at bay along with an oversized tube of sunblock. He's also sitting mostly in the shade, which Tracy would think is overkill if she hadn't seen him turn lobster-red after falling asleep on the back deck of Aida's house last summer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prologue to Chapter 151 "Swimsuit" telling the story Tracy references.

"Do you need more sunblock, babe?"

"Mmmm."

Hugh sets down his drink and turns his attention downwards to where Paul is stretched out on the swing to his left, head pillowed on Hugh's thigh. Tracy's on his right, iced tea still in hand and legs stretched out with her bare feet resting on the low table.

"He's an adult, Hugh," she murmurs with just a hint of fond exasperation, "almost forty for goodness' sake."

"So? He can still forget to do it."

"...he's right here," Paul mutters into Hugh's stomach, burrowing his face deeper against the soft fabric of his tank top, "put it on earlier. M'fine."

"You don't think you should move into the shade?"

The only response he gets is a grumpy noise and warm fingers hooking themselves over the waistband of his shorts as Paul settles back in. His content hum as Hugh's fingers card through his hair draws a laugh, and Hugh thumbs over Paul's ear affectionately. 

"All right."

Turning back to Tracy, he picks up his drink again and returns to their conversation about proposed upgrades to the Constitution-class medical facilities. The Puerto Rican sun is warm and welcome on his shoulders, and he couldn't ask for better company. It's not long after that Paul starts to snore quietly in his lap, and Hugh sighs happily. 

****

It's easy to lose track of time here, the back deck at Aida's house the setting for so many good memories. Tracy's reading something on her PADD with occasional pithy commentary, but it's mostly comfortable silence. Conversation between them trailed off maybe an hour ago, and Hugh's leaning against the cushions with his eyes closed, hand still rubbing at Paul's back and shoulders.

"Tía Tracy?"

They both start at the sound of Nella's voice. She's standing halfway between the house and the swing, hands on her hips.

"What is it, Nellita?"

His niece blinks at him, then turns her attention back to Tracy.

"Abuela wants to ask you something about a cube pressure?"

"Acupressure?"

Nella shrugs.

"All right," Tracy smiles, collecting her sandals and standing. 

She stretches, then tucks her PADD under her arm and heads for the patio door. Instead of following her inside, Nella crosses the deck and stops in front of him, seemingly waiting expectantly. Hugh tries to keep his face neutral, but gives in and chuckles.

"You want Tío Paul, don't you?"

Nella nods, holding out her own PADD with a diagram of a a miniature hydroponic system.

"Abuela said she'd think about letting me build one, but only if he thinks it's a good idea."

"Where?"

"In the sunroom, where the old planter boxes were."

She's going to have her own garden very shortly then, because Paul is incapable of saying no to any of Hugh's nieces and nephews.

"All right then. Sweetheart?" he shakes Paul's shoulder gently, "Wake up, babe."

"Mmmrrppphhh."

Paul's hand tightens on his shorts and he grumbles at the disturbance.

"G'way. M'sleepin."

"Nella wants your help."

"Hmmm."

Hugh smiles as Paul opens his eyes, smoothing his fluffed-up hair back down. 

"There you are."

He waits while Paul slowly levers himself upright, then steals a kiss. When he pulls back, Nella looks unimpressed. In the grand scheme of things in her world, he supposes watching her uncles kiss probably ranks much lower than scientific inquiry.

"Go on," he shoos Paul off, "I'll be in in a bit."

"Okay. All right Nella, wha- OWW!"

His niece jumps back in surprise at Paul's cry of pain, and Hugh immediately switches into doctor mode as he lands back on the swing hard, sending it rocking.

"Paul? Paul, what's wrong?"

"Fu- freaking hel- heck. My legs."

He's retained enough presence of mind not to curse, so whatever it is can't be that bad. Hugh firmly guides him to sit up with a hand on his shoulder and takes a look at Paul's legs.

And winces.

_Ouch._

Instead of the sprained ankle or bee sting to the foot he'd been expecting, the entirety of Paul's legs below the hem of his shorts are a bright, angry red that he can feel the heat radiating from inches away.

"You said you put on sunblock."

"I did," Paul groans, swiping the insulated glass from the table and upending the last of Hugh's melted ice cubes on one knee.

"Are you sure?"

Paul mutters something.

"What's that?"

"I put it on my face and arms."

Hugh glances at the position of the sun and does a quick calculation.

"So you've been lying in the sun for three hours. Babe..."

"Hugh?"

That's Tracy, from the patio door with Aida at her side.

"Sunburn, Trace," he calls back over, "can you grab a regen?"

"I'll get it!" 

Nella dashes off past all of them, nearly colliding with the patio door in her haste to avoid running into her great-grandmother. By the time she's back, Tracy and Aida are watching with varying degrees of amusement as Hugh carries a protesting Paul back into the house. Under the kitchen lights, the damaged skin looks even worse as he props Paul's left foot on his knee and starts running the regen over it.

"You need to be more careful," his grandmother chastises Paul gently, "especially here in the summer."

Paul buries his face in his hands as Hugh moves up to his ankle, skin flaring red in a way that has nothing to do with the sunburn.

"I know."

When he looks up again, Hugh schools his expression into something mild, mostly out of sympathy for the three looks of disapproval his partner is receiving from the women in the room. He shakes his head and keeps going, lifting Paul's ankle to be able to reach the area behind his knee.

"Nellita," Aida sighs, "let's leave your tío to finish, hmmm?"

Tracy snorts, turning it into a cough. 

"Your abuela says you're interested in plants. Did you know they're important in the history of medicine? Come on, I'll show you."

She holds out her hand to Nella, giving Hugh one last look. They file out, leaving the two of them at the kitchen table until the only sound left is the low hum of the regen.

"When I said you looked good in red, love, I didn't mean like this."

"I wasn't planning on falling asleep."

"It's probably my fault too," Hugh murmurs, setting Paul's significantly less red foot back on the floor and reaching for the other one, "I did sort of distract you when you were getting dressed."

Paul's smile is lopsided but genuine.

"It was a good distraction though."

"Promise me you'll be more careful? Could have been a lot worse if Nella didn't show up."

"I promise. What did your niece want, anyway?"

"Abuela told her she could have a hydroponic system, but only if you approved."

"Mmmm. Wait...am I supposed to say yes? Or no. I'm never sure."

Hugh pulls Paul's toes apart to reach the skin between them, ignoring the ticklish twitch.

"Oh, if she didn't want Nella to have one, she'd have told her. But if you want to check, you could go ask Abuela for some aloe."

"Got it."

They fall into silence until Hugh's done, setting the regen back on the table and running his hands over Paul's legs to check for any remaining soreness.

"Good?"

"Yeah. Thank you, dear doctor."

"Mmmm. You can thank me properly later," he grins, leaning in for a kiss. "In fact-"

"Ewww. Why do grownups kiss so much?"

Nella's back in the doorway with a scowl.

"Because we like each other."

She looks skeptical.

"Do I have to kiss people I like?"

Paul nudges Hugh's thigh with his foot.

"Only if you really, really like them. A lot. And only special people."

His niece seems unimpressed.

"Grownups are weird."

"We are."

"Really weird."

She narrows her eyes, clearly trying to determine if she's being humored. When their expressions seem to pass muster, she shrugs and holds out her PADD to Paul.

"Okay. Can you come look at this now? Please."

Hugh swats Paul on the thigh.

"Go on, I'll let you two know when it's time for dinner."

They leave, and he wonders what Nella will end up talking Paul into building. 

_This is going to be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nella and Aida demanded an appearance. It's a few years before Discovery (Paul's not 40 yet) and the science fair project in Chapter 145 ("Space (Dads), Prologue"), so Nella is probably seven or eight based on my very vague headcanon.


	154. Synesthesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ElenAranel, who offered up the word "synesthesia" as a prompt :)

Paul Stamets has always been a man of science. That's not to say that he doesn't have an imagination - far from it, he's imagined more expansively than most anyone else he's ever met - but that he's grounded in facts, in connecting the dots and explaining processes that might at first appear to be mystical but in the end are simply science. Traveling the mycelial network for the first time doesn't change his view of the universe so much as make tangible what had previously only been concepts that few people seemed interested in hearing about. 

Besides Hugh, and Tilly, but that's beyond the point.

For a fraction of a moment, milliseconds, his consciousness entered a realm so expansive and full of possibility that his only reaction to finding that they'd successfully made the jump is to laugh. It's part hysterical, because he's just had _holes punched in his sides and they hurt like **fuck**, _but it's also wonder at the sheer beauty that defies explanation. 

It isn't until Hugh's fussed and lectured and wrapped Paul up in a bundle of covers and his own arms that he finally has a few moments for it all to sink in. Start to sink in, at any rate, because each successive jump introduces him to even more of the dimensionless network. 

After Hugh designs his augments and connecting is much less painful, Paul begins to learn how to refine his navigation, to recognize the myriad pathways laid out in the otherspace. It completely defies description using the three-dimensional framework the majority of sentient life seems to operate in. When he's in the network, he moves on instinct, following the scent of the flickering lights and tasting their colors to know where they lead. 

Back in the reaction cube after a jump, there's a momentary sense of loss when he disconnects, an aching enormity of knowledge that he's been cut off from. It fades a few seconds later, certainly not more than a minute, fastest when Hugh is waiting for him with his gentle hands and concerned eyes.

Paul feels so...limited in his body now, grounded in a way that's heavy and dull. He tries to explain, but only Tilly seems to grasp part of what he's saying. Without the personal experience, she can only follow so far, yet he finds himself recounting the details to her hoping for a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

The closest he comes to finding that sense of connection outside of the network is with Hugh. It's always been there, and he thinks that maybe his jumps are helping him to comprehend what it is that passes between them. Paul can feel Hugh's moods in the touch of his fingers, sees flashes of golden warmth when he whispers into Paul's ear. Hugh's love for him is honey on his tongue, sweeter and more intoxicating than the finest wine, rich and melodic as it caresses his skin. 

Someday, he wants to be able to show Hugh, to make him understand that Paul is so much more himself like this. He needs him to know that Paul will never abandon him, never become so lost in his wanderings that he can't find his way when guided by Hugh's shining light. Even were he blind and deaf, he could taste the bitter chocolate of his laughter and follow the scent of his heartbeat back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coincidentally, one of the first projects I worked on in my current job years ago involved curating and producing an event centered on synesthesia and the connections between sound - specifically music and human voice - with all of the other senses.


	155. Survival, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Terra Firma" Mirror Universe story of how Paul and Hugh's relationship started. Multiple parts, leading up to Chapter 152 ("(Hello) Sweetheart").

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical Mirror Universe violence and its disturbing implications. 
> 
> Warning for blood, discussion of torture, strangulation, and murder (mostly in self-defense). Please skip if it's uncomfortable.

Paul’s sitting in a darkened corner of the bar - with his back quite literally _in_ the corner - surveying the crowd as he waits for Straal to arrive. He's slowly drinking something with a much lower alcohol content than he would have in the privacy of his own quarters, glowering at anyone who passes within a couple of meters of his table. It’s not his preferred location for a meeting, and his interest in ‘socializing’ with his current superior and former research partner is nonexistent. 

Across the room amidst the smoke and low lights, a flash of red catches his eye. Paul simultaneously licks his lips and mentally cringes.

_Fuck. _

Dr. Hugh Culber, master of poisons and a reported artisanal skill in torment with a laser scalpel, is one of the last people Paul would expect to see here. He can't imagine any of the medical personnel frequenting this no-name bar, much less one this high in Imperial favor. 

Imperial physicians are as a rule deadly, their knowledge of anatomy and physiology in high demand as interrogators. Culber in particular is whispered to be as vicious as he is attractive, moving with a surety that Paul envies, his reputation clearing a space around him. He's also in possession of a peculiar sort of honor: not violent for the sake of it and never reneging on his word, but those who tried to betray him tended to show up dead or dying in various degrees of agony. Others demand respect, but Culber commands it, an Imperial weapon of needle prick accuracy. Add to that his cold competence, muscular shoulders, and deft hands, and Paul's busy willing down his dick when it gives a hopeful twitch. 

_Stop staring Stamets, you do **not** want his attention._

It’s difficult. Were he anyone else, Paul might consider making an offer just to burn the inconvenient lust out and move on. Lust is a rare experience for him, far too distracting, and he's spent over three decades leaving behind anything that could be turned back against him. Culber’s simply too dangerous to approach, because Paul would very much like to not have a convenient accident if his offer is rejected. He has no intention of ending up a test subject for Culber’s latest lethal cocktail, and eventually his dick will get with the program and quit tempting him to do something stupid every time he glimpses those kohl-painted eyes and lush cupid's bow lips.

Movement to his right, and the hand resting on his thigh under the table moves to hover over his phaser.

”Hello, Paul.”

His fingers relax fractionally.

”Straal.”

He seems to be in an extremely good mood tonight, and Paul wonders which subordinate’s experiment he sabotaged or ensign he punched for not showing him enough deference. Straal’s been insufferable since he blew a hole the size of a fist in Commander Khorov’s chest two months ago with a centrifuge 'malfunction'. He’s always been an arrogant bastard, but after his self-made promotion he’d wasted no time in making it quite clear where Paul stood in the hierarchy of things. Paul thinks he could have dealt with Straal’s latest bit of power hungry avarice if he didn’t suddenly start claiming credit for all of Paul’s work and blaming him for his own abysmal failures.

If he were a different kind of man, Straal would be facedown in a gutter somewhere with significantly less blood and no heartbeat. Fortunately for him, every time Paul considers solutions to the problem he remembers the promise they made at the Academy, to always have each other’s back. At the time, it seemed like a wise investment, strength in numbers as they made their way as scientists in an Empire that prized soldiers. He should have known that Straal would abandon him at the first opportunity, but ten years of supposed trust is hard to overlook.

That might be something he needs to leave behind as well, if he's ever going to find stable patronage for his work.

“You know-“

Whatever Straal is about to say is interrupted by his comm. He shrugs and heads to one of the soundproof alcoves to take it, and Paul can’t say he’s sorry to be alone again.

More purposeful movement coming his direction.

”Hello.”

The speaker looks barely old enough to have survived the Academy, but he’s apparently confident enough to approach a Lieutenant Commander in a bar. Paul's hand twitches back towards his phaser.

”Who are you?”

”Cam.”

”Mmm.”

He sits down across from Paul without an invitation. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

”No.”

”Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make you yell mine.”

Paul doesn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the clichéd proposition. Cam’s in uniform and doesn’t look like a licensed professional seeking business - too bad, because he might have availed himself of it for a physical release - which means he either knows exactly who Paul is and is currying for some sort of favor (likely), or he’s genuinely interested (extremely unlikely). Neither option seems particularly worthy of a response. 

“Not interested.”

“Oh, I bet you are.”

He gives him his coldest stare. 

”Fuck off.”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually he gets the message and leaves. 

Whatever it is has Straal still on his comm ten minutes later. Paul’s drink is empty, he’s not stupid enough to order another at this hour, and Culber’s glanced his direction at least five times. 

_Definitely time to leave._

Straal will just have to tell him whatever it is tomorrow, he decides, pushing his chair back and shouldering through the crowd. The spaceport is relatively empty for once, and he briskly heads for the end of the no-transport zone. He’s almost there when the sound of footsteps behind him land his hand back on his phaser yet again.

Paul turns and has just enough time to open his mouth to tell Cam to fuck off again when he lands a punch on the side of Paul’s head that makes his vision blur and drags him into an alley between buildings.

_Fuck_.

Dazed, Paul fumbles for his stunner, but Cam is faster, slamming him face first into a wall with his arms twisted painfully behind him and some sort of noose around his neck.

”Don’t- you...take no...for an answer?” he forces out between beats of his throbbing temple.

Cam does something that sends lancing pain up his right arm, leaving it to dangle useless at his side. Before he can even draw a breath to curse, Cam’s now-free hand is holding Paul's own dagger at his throat.

”Should have said yes, Stamets.”

”Oh, so you do know my name.”

Paul tries to reach the stiletto in his left sleeve cuff, but his arm is pinned too tightly.

”Would have given you a nice fuck,” Cam hisses in his ear, “before you died. Pity.”

He shifts his weight to stamp on Cam’s instep, but he dodges, kicking Paul’s ankle painfully instead and tightening the noose.

”By all means, keep struggling. Turns me on.”

”Planning...to fuck. M'dead body. Then?”

The tip of the dagger digs in deeper as he gasps out the words, and he can feel the blood leaking from its shallow slice. It’s a struggle to keep his head from moving forward and cutting his own throat, but he fights it with every ounce of strength, searching for an opportunity with what oxygen he has left in his brain.

”Oh, no. They want your body intact.”

_Shit_.

Who wants him dead that he hasn’t picked up with his intel?

Cam laughs nastily, rocking the razor edge back and forth and twisting the cord further.

“If you'd said yes, I'd have fucked you real good. Now, I’m just gonna bleed you out real slow. Or maybe I'll strangle you first. You know, some men get a hard on when they're being strangled. Think if I do it slow enough, you'll get off before you die? Watching you choke to death on it is re-“

Footsteps.

Paul pushes back, hoping his assailant might be distracted, but all it gets him is a knee pressed up into his groin in all the wrong ways that forces what little air he has left in his lungs out in an aborted cry of pain.

"Fuck off, I'm busy her-"

There’s a flash of red in his peripheral vision right before he feels a spray of hot liquid on the back of his neck, and Paul’s suddenly free of Cam’s weight and able to breathe again. That realization is followed swiftly by a sickening crunch and the the thud of a body hitting the ground, and he whirls, reaching for his phaser left-handed.

Lightning fast fingers bend his thumb backwards, and Culber smiles at him as he neatly plucks the weapon from Paul's grip.

“You really should watch your back.” 

Paul flicks a glance at either end of the alley, but it appears deserted save for the two of them and Cam’s contorted, whimpering form. He doesn't seem to be able to move anything below the neck, which is fine by Paul until he's done hopefully getting away from this situation alive.

”...thank you.”

Those kohl-rimmed eyes bore into him, amused and arresting. Culber's even more beautiful up close, smells like woodsmoke and musk, and his traitorous dick twitches again.

_Please don't be about to kill me._

”Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Culber purrs, “just passing by."

_Bullshit._

There’s something unsettling in Culber’s cheerful expression, but he can’t put his finger on it. More to the point, there are less than zero reasons why he would bother intervening in what for all intents and purposes must have looked like a personal dispute. There's not much he can say when he's down to one working arm and Culber is in possession of both his phaser and dagger. Unless...

"You two acquainted?"

He prods Cam with the toe of his boot, stepping out of the way when the action produces a pitiful gurgle and Cam coughs up blood.

"No."

Culber crouches down and grips Cam by the hair, lifting his head off the pavement. On a purely professional level, Paul has to appreciate the surgical precision of the knife wound at the base of his neck that clearly severed the spinal cord but left the victim alive.

"Amateur mistake," he chides as more blood dribbles from Cam's mouth, "too bad you won't live to learn from it."

Paul might feel sorry for those pleading eyes on someone else.

"What's that? You want me to spare you?"

Another wet, choked noise. A cold, dangerous smile spreads over Culber's lips. 

"I hope you already spent whatever they paid you for the hit. Must have been cheap, or they'd have hired a better assassin," he continues conversationally, "but I'm not in the mood to give a lesson. You're lucky I'm in a hurry, or I'd have taken the time to cut your dick off first."

Before he can react, Culber tucks Paul's phaser and dagger back into their sheaths, then he reaches for the abandoned garrote on the ground. He loops it around Cam's neck and lets go of his hair, taking the ends of the garrote in both hands and pulling them apart sharply before tying a knot. Cam's face turns a dusky scarlet, eyes bulging, and Culber nods to himself before standing.

Wiping his bloody hands on his own red uniform, he steps over Cam's still-twitching body until he's a foot away from Paul. There's surprisingly no sadistic glee on his face, just a mask of bored indifference. Were he not concerned with clearing his debt to Culber to avoid him crossing Paul's path again, he'd have long since fled the alley. 

”Anyway,” he continues as if they were having a polite conversation and he hadn't just killed a would-be assassin for a stranger, “you might want to consider keeping a closer eye on things.”

Paul’s still fumbling for something to say when Culber checks his chrono.

”Well. I've an appointment I need to get to.”

"Wait!"

Culber's half turned away, but he stops and looks back, face impassive. 

"It'll be a couple of hours till your arm is back to normal, but I wouldn't let anyone else find out."

"That's not...what do I owe you for this?"

"Nothing."

“I’m really not a fan of debts.”

He's proud of himself for not flinching away when Culber uses his sleeve cuff to swipe some of the blood off the sluggishly bleeding slice in Paul's neck.

”I know.”

Then he pats Paul's cheek and turns to leave again, tossing one last thing over his shoulder.

"Until next time, Stamets"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story in stages, got to 4500 words without being done, and realized it reads better broken into chapters. This is just the first 2100 of those. 
> 
> “Terra Firma, Part One” suggested different dynamics between Mirror!Paul and Mirror!Hugh than the tragic ones I’ve written for Goodbye, Sweetheart and When Sorrow Turns to Joy. I wanted to explore something a little different, so this may or may not end up linked to those other stories. Hopefully I haven't pushed things too far. It's a much darker version of Hugh than I've ever written, and I welcome your feedback.


	156. Survival, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues the story of "Terra Firma" Mirror Universe Paul and Hugh from the previous chapter.

He doesn’t linger in the alley long after watching Culber’s departure (and he would only admit under torture to staring at the doctor’s ass in the process). The warning that whatever Cam did to his arm would take a couple of hours to wear off echoes in his head as he spends a few moments ensuring that his phaser is secure in its holster and straightening his armor. His dagger is mostly free of blood when he checks, and his memory shows him a split second of Culber wiping the blade on his own sleeve before re-sheathing it. The action seemed habitual, reflexive, and he shelves the thought for later examination. 

The last ten minutes have been most...enlightening. He definitely knows even less about Culber than he thought he did before the man appeared and effortlessly took care of Paul’s assassin problem.

_Speaking of..._

Paul checks the alley one more time before crouching over the body and rifling through his pockets. It’s a calculated risk, given that whoever paid for his death might be close by, but chances are they’re waiting comfortably somewhere if they expected to be delivered his corpse. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to have so much as a comm on him, and Paul doesn’t dare pocket his badge for fear of it being used to trace him. He flips it, memorizes the serial number, then tosses it a few meters further into the shadows. Then he pulls off the chest plate to examine it for concealed data chips, but it too seems to be nothing of note.

Sighing, Paul stands and uses his left hand to tuck his right thumb under the flap of his phaser holster. It’ll be obvious to anyone taking a closer look, but it ought to do well enough for a casual glance to assume he’s simply another paranoid Imperial with his hand on his weapon. There’s not much he can do about the blood on his face, although that’s hardly something remarkable. 

He spares a glance at Cam before walking away, dispassionately taking in the horribly purpled face above the garrote tied around his neck. There’s a rapidly fading spark of life in his glassy eyes under the burst capillaries. Paul briefly considers slitting his throat, but it’s a courtesy his would-be murderer doesn’t deserve and he’ll be completely dead in a few minutes anyway. 

Heading towards the nearest transport point at a brisk walk, he resists the urge to rub at his cheek where Culber touched him.

****

Straal, predictably, laughs when Paul mentions the attempted murder. He doesn’t say anything about Culber’s part, just tells Straal he left a body in a back alley and locks himself in his lab with every security measure armed.

Over the next few days, Paul makes some discreet inquiries about Hugh Culber. They don’t turn up much more than he already knows, and he’s left two hundred credits poorer with only the additional discovery that Culber prefers paid companions and seems to have never had an additional fee levied on him for excessive injury. 

Worse, no one seems to have any inkling who might have it out for him. A search of the serial number on Cam’s badge turns up nothing, and he wonders if the uniform was simply misdirection. Paul doesn’t like loose ends, and can’t think of any left unaccounted for. He’d suspect Straal, eager to claim full credit, if not for the fact that he’s not been able to reproduce Paul's results and killing him won’t change that. 

This week hasn’t been wonderful scientifically either, although he’s not stupid enough to suggest he’s anything but on track with his experiments. He loses an entire day repairing the seals on the incubator, only to find that the batch of spores he’s been carefully culturing for months has contaminated growth medium. Paul had had to beg and scrape to get his hands on the necessary reagents, and he’s not eager to go to any of his suppliers for more when it would be only too easy for them to mention it to Straal. It leaves him in an even more snappish mood than usual, not helped by the morning he wakes up hard and humping the sheets, a vision of smoke-lined eyes flickering in his head. 

After jerking off efficiently and setting himself to rights, he’s just finished buckling on his chest plate when the door chimes. It’s 0630 and he’s not expecting anyone, so he thinks he’s more than justified holding the groveling courier at phaser point until he’s scanned the cargo container to ensure it doesn’t include any surprises. Just to be on the safe side, he erects a blast-proof forcefield around the small parcel and remotely provides a sample of his DNA. There’s a hiss of de-pressurization, then the two halves of the container pop open to reveal several vials nestled in protective foam. 

_What the hell...?_

All six of the necessary components for his growth medium stare back at him from the innocuous cargo capsule. Not only that, they’re in excess quantities that mean he won’t have to obtain more for at least a year. He scans three times before lowering the field, running a slightly shaking hand over the vials. That’s when he notices the data chip tucked in between, and he retrieves it with a pair of forceps, still too afraid to damage the precious reagents.

It’s a standard chip, new and not reused, with no identifying marks or clue as to its contents. Paul fishes out a firewalled PADD and places it on the reader. There’s no holographic message, audio file, or anything besides a single line of text:

_Appointment went well.   
_

“What the fuck?”

No one else knows the exact ratios for those reagents except him, but they’ve been presented to him in perfect proportion. The thought that someone has managed to access his data pales in comparison to the realization that the anonymous gift-giver is still the last person he wants to be indebted to.

What to do about it though?

Generally speaking, Paul takes his advantages whenever they present themselves, but never unless he’s sure of the potential consequences. Over the years, plenty of others tended to sneer and call him a coward; he ignores them and is happily still alive while many of them aren’t. Nothing in the Empire is free, in his experience, always strings attached or a knife in the dark. Which is why he carefully seals the capsule up again and retreats to his bedroom to think.

Culber had in all apparent sincerity brushed off Paul’s offer to settle the obligation created by literally saving his life. Paul had placed him on the mental list of people to keep an eye out for a way to return a favor if the opportunity arose - not out of altruism, but self-preservation. This though... 

Negotiating for a few microliters at a time cost an inordinate amount of credits plus completing the transaction with time spent on his knees when currency wasn’t enough. Killing someone is business as usual, but obtaining half-liter quantities of these bio-chemicals in top quality is, frankly, worth more than Paul’s life.

_What does he expect in return?_

There’s a very small possibility that it’s not Culber, although he can’t imagine who else would have the connections and the still-unknown desire to provide them to Paul. Recompense in the form of credits is laughable, and he doubts his particular skillset would be of interest to an Imperial physician who already has access to most any resources he needs. He’s not a poisoner of Culber’s caliber or a weapons developer, nothing he could barter with. 

That really only leaves offering his body in trade. His dick is certainly interested in that option, despite the inherent suicidal danger of engaging with Culber. And he’s not possessed of enough sexual prowess to be any sort of prize, not when his skills were mostly learned of necessity.

Culber mentioned an appointment in the alley, but it can’t possibly be for these? That would mean he had to have arranged for them well in advance of their meeting. Paul toys with and discards the idea that Culber could have been the one to set Cam on him with the intention of killing him as a demonstration. 

Regardless of motivation, he needs to acknowledge it. He’s about to reach for his PADD when his comm buzzes, setting his heart racing. The frequency is encrypted, but half of his contacts are more than capable of obscuring their digital identity.

”Stamets.”

_”Did you open it yet?”_

”...Culber?”

Paul’s not sure if he’s surprised or if it all makes too much sense.

”_Yes_.”

“I’ve opened it. You-“

”_Are the amounts correct?”_

Culber’s question almost has a hint of uncertainty about it, but that’s impossible.

“Yes. But-“

”_Oh, good. Let me know if you need more._”

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out as he stares at the comm in his hands.

_”Stamets?”_

“No! I mean, for- that’s...yeah. What,” he has to pause and clear his throat, “what do you want?”

”_Want_?”

“In return for a year’s worth of reagents I’ve had to sell my ass to scrape together even a fraction of, what do you want in exchange for them?”

“_Oh. Nothing.”_

“What?”

_”Consider it a gift. You-“_

Culber’s voice is drowned out by an agonized scream somewhere nearby.

”_Sorry, I’d love to stay and chat.”_

That’s the first time Paul’s ever heard that statement made without a trace of sarcasm.

What the hell is Culber playing at?

“You can’t just-“

”_Have to go. Watch your back, Stamets.”_

Culber disconnects before Paul can say anything else. He closes the comm and stares at the capsule with its precious contents.

“What. The. Fuck.”


	157. Survival, Part Three

Paul spends most of the next night staring at the vials on his table, unable to sleep. In the morning, he stares at himself long and hard in the mirror, trying to objectively evaluate if Culber could possibly be interested in him physically. 

For his own survival, he's spent the better part of the last three-plus decades building mannerisms to compensate for the fact that nothing about him is threatening by nature. Paul's pale, freckled skin is a liability, pinkening in easily discernible reaction to stress or fear. A black eye or cut lip looked intimidating on others, but glowed an obvious and ugly red on him. The cursed slenderness of his youth is thickening, and not in a way that enables him to use seduction as a strategy, not that it was ever a successful thing. He's been told - by a professional he paid for a night who didn't have any reason to lie once the credits were transferred - that his eyes are striking, but it could have simply been empty flattery in the hopes of engaging a repeat client who didn't expect anything but an orgasm and minimal conversation. 

It's absurd, really. 

Transferring the reagents to his lab is done over the course of a week, separately and in much smaller aliquotted quantities to prevent Straal or any of the lab techs realizing he'd obtained them through anything but the usual means. He takes a perverse sort of pleasure, actually, watching Straal frown in consternation when he can't determine where Paul's sources are. The week lost regrowing the spores is tedious, but being able to augment the amounts of each component allows him to cultivate a much ore robust batch and even place some in stasis against future setbacks.

On the other hand, Paul still hasn't been able to think of an appropriate token of thanks for Culber. A comm of any sort, even if he had a frequency, speaking in more than the vaguest terms is too risky if it's intercepted, and arranging an in-person meeting when he doesn't have anything in exchange isn't going to helpful either. No, despite what Culber's said, Paul isn't eager to leave any possibility of an open debt. 

Which is also exactly why another courier arriving on his proverbial doorstep at 2300 leaves him with a sinking feeling.

This time it's an even smaller parcel no larger than his clenched fist. He takes the same precautions with this one, only lowering the field once he's sure it's inert and not a delivery of biohazardous gas or incendiary material. Paul pops the lid open carefully, half-expecting more reagents although he has more than enough now. Instead, he finds a sleek little device waiting inside, matte silver and small enough to be easily concealed in the palm of one's hand. There's no note accompanying it, but a detailed scan of its components proves it to be a neural paralyzer. What's more, he discovers that it's already coded to his bioneural signature, meaning that he's safe from its effects _and_ no one else would be able to activate it. That Culber was able to obtain and program his signature in seems practically mundane compared the fact that it's less than a quarter of the size of any he's seen even on high ranking officers. 

Paul's baffled, and it's not a feeling he's used to. The device isn't designed to malfunction and immobilize him, nor does he receive any correspondence after opening the parcel. It can't be an attempt at intimidation on Culber's part, and a demonstration of his connections would also be superfluous unless he means to engage with Paul further. 

_What could he possibly be after?_

The paralyzer doesn't have any answers for him. It does, however, fit neatly into his sleeve cuff with minimal alteration of the stiletto sheath already there. He considers that it might very well be a tracking device, but Culber clearly knows far more about Paul than the reverse and if he wanted him dead, Paul would be a cooling corpse already.

Two and a half weeks later, he puts the paralyzer into use when he finds the new lab tech trying to hack into his files. It's not a new tactic of Straal's, but this is the first time one of his minions cuts power to the lab and tries to club his face in. There's the briefest flash of orange light when the business end of the device makes contact with the bare skin on his attacker's wrist, then he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. Paul stands over him with his phaser in hand, looking down at the fear in the tech's staring eyes and wonders if he ought to kill this one so that Straal finally figures out his tactics aren't going to work. He really doesn't enjoy killing the way some do, but it's a necessary thing sometimes. Luckily (or possibly unluckily) for the tech, Paul figures that the best way to deliver the message is out loud.

"When Straal gets here," he informs the spasming body, "tell him that he might outrank me now, but he's never been the brightest mycologist and that's not likely to change even if he kills me."

Then he leaves.

The next morning, Straal doesn't comment on the disappearance of the tech, and Paul pointedly ignores the dent in the condenser his head left when he hit the floor. He does, however, ask to see Paul's "new toy". Paul's not in the mood to oblige, offering commentary on the likelihood of bloom failure using freeze-dried spores instead that leaves Straal red-faced and fuming.

In hindsight, he wonders if he shouldn't have pushed back quite that hard. A month passes, then two with nothing more than the usual animosity. Paul submits a report with updated progress to Command, and comes in four days after that to find the door to his private lab blasted off its track and every sample container smashed on the deck. The controlled-environment units took the worst damage, Straal clearly trying to find Paul's mysterious source of components, and he's once again glad that the precious vials are safe in his quarters. He's nowhere to be found, of course, but Paul knows better than to display his rage where it will be captured in the security footage. Instead, he calmly picks through the wreckage, pocketing a few remaining data chips that avoided destruction, and heads back to his quarters.

Straal's systematic attempts to get rid of him mean that Paul's going to have to do some very thorough cleanup, because he doesn't know if Command is going to believe his version of events or just enjoy the excuse to strip Paul of his rank and privileges. They're not overly fond of him either.

It takes more groveling than he has the stomach for, but he does emerge from the latest meeting with Command with all of his limbs intact. Barely. He's not sure they're going to continue accepting his claims of sabotage, particularly when he has his doubts whether there's enough scientific competence among them to actually understand his results. Half of them are there through bloody promotion, and it's a struggle to put on a mask of arrogant indifference when he has to explain, yet again, why his work is important for the Empire. The situation is clearly untenable, and things could escalate at any time. 

At the end of the week, his comm chirps with an unencrypted but unfamiliar frequency.

"Stamets."

_"Want it taken care of?"_

"Culber."

_"Obviously."_

"I'm fine."

_"Won't be for long."_

His chest tightens at the ominous statement.

"I can handle things."

_"Fine. But the offer's open."_

"Why?"

_"Why what?"_

"All of this. Helping me. The...gifts?"

He knows better than to speak in specifics on an unsecured frequency, which is maddening.

_"I have my reasons. Do you like them?"_

"Mind sharing? And yes."

_"Oh good."_

"But-"

_"You'll figure it out."_

The comm ends abruptly. Paul should probably be worried that he's starting to think Culber sounds friendly. This can't possibly end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So disappointed that we didn't get to hear Mirror Hugh speak in either part of "Terra Firma", although I admit to being quite appreciative of his involvement in the final fight scene.
> 
> I'm not terribly happy with the Straal portion of things, because it's choppy, but necessary to advance the plot. It's difficult to reconcile scientists still having to deal with the cutthroat Mirror society, so I hope this works.


	158. Survival, Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Straal used to be Paul's friend.

Two weeks pass, in which Paul gets frustratingly little done in the lab. Eventually, the door is repaired, with an extra layer of duranium that cost three days of work to make fifty milliliters of a powerful hallucinogen for the engineer Command begrudgingly sent to fix it. All things considered, it's worth the extra hours spent perfecting the formula just so he doesn't have to constantly check that Straal is still at his bench and is only glaring daggers his direction rather than actually attacking. It's an uneasy ceasefire, and he's left wondering what the next salvo will be. 

Things with Straal hadn't always been like this. When they were helping each other survive the spate of poisonings that took out half of their cohort in the graduate program and sharing a meticulously debugged apartment, he'd thought Justin would be a rare friend he could trust. And he had been, more or less, for a decade until Paul received his first promotion after the Lieutenant leading their project met with an actual transporter accident and Command put him in charge. Justin had congratulated him, but there was a coldness about it, as if he was recalculating an equation that had always favored him over Paul. He'd withdrawn, suddenly "busy" when Paul asked for his help on a delicate graft or "forgetting" to change the growth medium on only Paul's batch of mushrooms.

At the time, he'd chalked it up to Justin's more volatile emotions, assuming the envy at Paul being given a promotion he hadn't even wanted would settle. Being a Lieutenant put him in the crosshairs of every other Ensign in the lab who would have just as soon assassinated their way upwards, no longer occasional allies as they all struggled to make breakthroughs fast enough to survive. Eventually, it was just the two of them left, everyone else having found a patron, a ship, or the wrong end of someone's knife. Things between them had grown cold, but Paul never saw it coming when they had a drink together to celebrate Justin's promotion and he woke up the next morning with a high fever, unable to speak and convulsing with chills. He'd commed him for help, sprawled over the floor of his quarters in his attempt to crawl to the medkit in the bathroom. When he'd arrived, Paul's relief quickly turned to shock as Justin kicked the PADD out of his hands, then stepped over his body and sat at Paul's console.

That morning, he'd watched the man he thought was a friend try to hack into his data, ignoring Paul as he vomited blood. Paul's firewall proved effective though, and he left empty handed an hour later, never saying a word. It took forty minutes for Paul to drag himself the fifteen feet into the bathroom, weak and convinced he was actually dying. The scanner identified the poison - and he should have known what his former friend was up to when he started studying Andorian deathcap - and he was able to hypo himself with enough standard antitoxin that he actually woke up alive after passing out in the shower.

It took a week to recover, cobbling together a cocktail of chemicals to counteract the toxin tearing his body apart. There was no point in calling Medical, not for something they would class as a laboratory "accident", nor telling Command who would expect him to take care of the problem himself. He should have spent the time devising a means of revenge, planning an opportunity to remove the threat. Instead, he spent most of it coming to terms with the fact that his friend Justin no longer existed. When he returned to the lab five kilos lighter and even paler than usual, Straal didn't bother to hide his disappointment, watching stony-faced as Paul sat back at his bench and acted as if the betrayal hadn't nearly gotten him killed.

It's been three years since Straal's attempt to poison him failed, three years of looking over his shoulder and adding extra layers of encryption to his data, and Paul doesn't honestly know how much he has left in him. Sometimes, when there’s a lull in hostilities he can almost forget everything that’s happened since. Culber's attention has given him something else to focus on, but it's only slightly less worrying.

_>>Are you sure I can't help with your problem? _appears on his PADD while he's taking samples out of the centrifuge. 

The sender is anonymous, but he knows who it is.

>> I told you, it's fine.

_>> You should let me handle it._

>> Why?

_>> Have you figured it out yet?_

He really, really hasn't.

>> Thank you for the help, but I can take care of myself.

_>> All right._

The conversation ends there, and it's not until an hour later that his PADD chirps again.

_>> Do you like wine?_

"What the fuck," he mutters, quietly enough that the sound of the centrifuge covers it.

>> No.

_>> Okay._

There's nothing else after that, which is fine because he has absolutely no idea why Culber even cares and he really needs to transplant these seedlings and put them in the low pressure chamber before midnight. It's slow going, and thankfully Straal leaves at 1930 so he at least can concentrate a little more. He doesn't leave the lab until 0100, exhausted and intent on indulging in a long hot shower, but still pauses outside his door to check his security measures haven't been tampered with before keying the door open.

"Oh good, I was wondering when you were getting home."

Paul stops in his tracks.

"Should I have commed first?"

He glances at the control panel to confirm that yes, all of his defenses are still up. The neural disruption field on the threshold should have fried anyone else trying to enter without deactivating it first, and yet Hugh Culber is lounging on his couch with his collar unzipped, boots propped on the coffee table along with an expensive bottle of whiskey. Paul takes a step forward to let the doors close behind him but doesn't get any closer (because shocked or not, there's no excuse for leaving his back to an open door or straying from an escape route). 

"How...?"

"Oh, that? Sorry, it was making visiting you difficult. Impressive bit of tech actually, it took a while to program it to accept my readings."

"You-"

"It'll still work just fine on everyone else."

Paul blinks, wondering if he's actually asleep back in the lab and this is his brain's twisted sense of humor. Probably not, since he can still feel the blister on his left big toe from breaking in this new pair of boots.

"...okay."

Culber stares at him for a few seconds, then stands and crosses the room. His stride is confident, powerful and he reaches up towards Paul’s neck. 

_Fuck._

A warm hand curves around Paul's throat (gently, so gently) and guides him closer. There's no force in the grip, and Culber lets his hand fall as soon as they're toe to toe. This close, without the stink of sweat and blood in an alley, the scent of woodsy musk is even stronger, overlaid with a hint of medical antiseptic. Paul can't look away from his eyes, the kohl smudged a little at the edges, lashes dark and thick. 

"Don't worry," he coos, "I'm not going to hurt you."

He tries to clench his hands to hide their shaking, realizing that he still has his carryall clutched in his left hand and his right hovering over his phaser. 

“What are you doing here?”

”I wanted to talk,” Culber tilts his head towards the crook of Paul's neck and shoulder, inhaling, “I’m very interested in you.”

Paul swallows, knows he can see the movement. 

"Clearly."

There’s no missing the implication. As unlikely as it is, could it really be that simple?

Culber straightens, pursing his lips thoughtfully. 

”You didn’t try to take advantage of my offer. No one usually has the balls to do that.”

_Fuck. _

”I-“

"I like that."

_...what?_

"You-"

"You're not groveling at my feet. You didn't ask for anything else, didn't even want me to get rid of any of your rivals for you."

Dark amber eyes study him with an odd fascination, like Paul is some sort of exotic fungi to be catalogued and described. 

** _Chirp._ **

Paul nearly jumps out of his skin when Culber's comm goes off. Annoyance clear on his face, he flips it open.

"Culber."

_"Where the hell are you?" _

A woman's voice, authoritative and slightly frustrated.

"Busy. Call you back, Trace."

Culber snaps it shut and clips it back onto his belt.

"Well," he sighs, "looks like I can't stay, unfortunately."

"What- why?"

"I thought you'd be home earlier," he sounds genuinely disappointed, fastening his collar with a frown and tugging his armor straight, "only docked till 0200 and I need to get back."

"You...here."

Paul seems to be reduced to monosyllables, which usually isn't ever the case. His brain is refusing to wrap itself around any of this.

"What kind of food do you like?"

_What?_

His comm chirps again, insistently.

"You don't have to decide now," Culber pats Paul on the cheek, "we can talk later." 

He smiles then turns towards the door, face settling into the same neutral expression as when he left Paul in the alley.

"Watch your back, Stamets."

Culber steps around him and is gone a moment later, leaving Paul staring at the unopened bottle of whiskey still on the table.

"Fuck."

>>Survival is now a standalone story at <https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443885>!<<

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two or three more chapters to go. Should I have made it a separate story, or part of Paths Not Taken? I'm a bit worried it doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the snippets in here and ended up about five times longer than I originally wrote it.
> 
> absolutedisasterbi’s comment on the previous chapter is GOLD:  
_Hugh: *pats self on back* another successful flirtation_  
_Paul: I'M GONNA DIE _
> 
> Nailed it!


	159. Space (Dads), Part Two

Adira lets themself in to Stamets’ quarters at 0700 with only a twinge of guilt - they _had_ promised to stop overriding door locking mechanisms - carried on a sense of urgency.

”Commander, I-“

It skids to a halt in their brain as they realize that neither Stamets or Culber are awake. 

Stamets is on his stomach, face mostly buried in the pillow with one hand resting on the sheet next to his face. Beside him, Culber is snuggled close and partially on top of Stamets, arm flung carelessly over his waist on top of the covers and cheek resting on his shoulder. They’re both snoring quietly, but otherwise completely still.

Adira wrinkles their nose.

”What’s that face for?”

Grey’s voice seems loud, and they go to shush him before remembering that he’s not audible to either of the men asleep in front of them. 

”They look so...” Adira trails off with a vague hand gesture.

”Cute? Comfortable? ...old?”

He gives Adira an impish look before coming to stand at their shoulder.

”...right for each other.”

Stamets and Culber are fully dressed so far as Adira can tell with the covers pulled up, nothing sexual in the way their bodies are touching at all. Instead, there’s an intimacy that makes them want to avert their eyes for the sake of privacy and yet they can’t look away all at the same time.

”It’s rude to stare.”

Adira lets out a surprised noise that they will later deny was a ‘meep!’ and takes a step back as Culber’s eyes open sleepily. Beneath him, Stamets shifts, and they watch in fascination as Culber gently shushes him and rubs his back until he settles again.

”Umm.”

Culber pushes up on his elbow to regard them with a wry smile.

”Can I help you?”

“...sorry?”

Behind them, Grey snorts but offers no helpful input.

”Are you all right?”

”I- it’s nothing.”

”It's oh-seven-hundred and you’re standing here in your pajamas. What’s going on?”

Culber’s voice is kind with a hint of concern as Adira glances down and realizes that yes, they have indeed not bothered to change into their usual jumpsuit. They both freeze as Stamets mutters something and rolls over to shove his face into Culber’s chest, nose tucked between his prominent pectoral muscles. 

“N-nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

The doctor tilts his head to the side and seems to be studying them even as his hand comes up and starts absently stroking Stamets’ messy blond hair.

”You don’t have to tell me, but if it’s not super urgent, can it wait for another hour?”

He nods down at Stamets whose hand is now clinging to Culber’s pajama shirt.

Adira grimaces. Of course they know exactly how late it had been before Stamets left Engineering.

”Yeah. It can. I’m sorry.”

”You don’t have to apologize,” Culber smiles, “but I might as well give you the door code.”

”Why? I mean I can overri- oh. Right.”

Grey, across the room examining a shelf of mementos, turns to give them a smirk.

”Is that Grey?” Culber gestures in the direction of their glance.

”Yeah.”

”Ahhh. Nice to meet you,” he waves, “but just keep it down until he wakes up, okay?”

Grey seems to take it as an invitation, sitting down on the couch and looking at Adira expectantly.

”We should go.”

“Oh, you can stay if you want. I’m sure Paul won’t mind.”

”Okay?” Adira widens their eyes and tries to communicate silently with Grey who’s cheerfully waving them over. “Sorry.”

”If you want to make up for it,” Culber yawns, settling back down, “make coffee at 0745.”

“Ask him what kind.”

”Oh, uhh, Grey wants to know what kind?” 

“Just use program three, café con leche and double espresso. Thanks.”

Culber’s eyes are already closed, but they wave awkwardly and goes to join Grey.

”I like him too!”

Adira groans quietly before curling up and burying their face in the cushions. 

“This was your idea, you know.”

”Mine?”

”Yes.”

”How?”

”I...don’t know. But it was.”

“Shhh, you’ll wake them up.”

Adira lifts their head just enough to glare with one eye. Grey seems unfazed, as usual.

”Grrr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been so caught up trying to finish the “Terra Firma” Mirror!Culmets that I have a backlog of a few other snippets I was going to hold off posting till that finished, but this one was too cute to wait.


	160. Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***SPOILERS FOR S3E11***

“You realize this is crazy.”

Adira’s eyes dart towards Grey, but they don’t stop punching calculations into the console. In the middle of the drive bay, Stamets is getting more and more agitated, and the adamant refusal cloaking raw terror in his voice makes Tal shiver in remembered pain.

“I can’t let him die down there.”

”Who?”

Grey knows full well, but they stare at him anyway.

”Hugh.”

”What about Michael and Saru?”

”Of course them too. But-“ Adira finishes another line of code, “Paul needs Hugh.”

”Adira...”

”He can’t lose him.”

”Are you just doing this for Paul, or...?”

”Or what?”

”Is it for you too.”

Adira’s teeth grind together.

_Breathe_, a voice that sounds like Senna whispers, the calm certainty of age and authority wrapping their spine in steel, _this is the right thing to do._

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Grey’s face undergoes a transformation from surprise to trepidation and finally lands on determined.

”Of course.”

They give a tight nod and finish the algorithm just as Stamets pivots and heads into the spore cube. Adira exchanges a look with Grey and they head immediately to Reno.

Reno, for all of her irascibility, doesn’t ask if Adira thinks they can do it. She hears out Adira’s breakneck speed explanation, takes three seconds to consider, and plucks the badge off her jacket to press it into their palm.

”Thank you.”

Adira turns to go, but Reno’s hand on their elbow stays them.

”Reno?”

Her eyes dart over to the spore cube, the blue light bathing Stamets in an otherworldly glow that makes it all too easy to see the bleak despair he’s trying so hard to hide.

”Bring him back.”

”Or die trying,” Adira mutters.

Reno's grip tightens until it’s almost painful.

”Don't make Paul mourn you both.”

Her lack of a clever rejoinder or even dark humor shakes Adira to the core, heart racing before Tal intervenes and slows it. There’s nothing else to say, just a sharp nod. Reno releases their arm and a moment later is shouting out commands to re-route power, hands flying across the interface.

“Ready?”

Adira gives Stamets one last look before reaching up to tap Reno’s badge. 

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W.T.F.
> 
> Dude.
> 
> That episode.
> 
> I’m not sure how I feel right now. Talk about ramping up the drama and conflict and uncertainty so close to the end of the season.
> 
> I understand why Hugh chose to stay, I agree (character development and conveniently not having Hugh present while they force Paul under mind control), and I also disagree (Hugh needs to do it for him, yes, but I don’t think a simple “tell Paul I love him” covers it and does a disservice to the strength of their relationship even though I suspect the writers are trying to portray independent action).


	161. Scrabble, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since folks seemed to really enjoy the group chat in Chapter 146 (“Straightforward”), here’s another installment.
> 
> I changed the naming conventions because typing out all the brackets on my phone is wearing out my thumbs :P

_ **>> New game created** _

_**>> Players: **kdetmer, jowosekun, grhys, hculber, pstamets, stilly, jreno _

** _>> Language: Earth standard English _ **

** _>> Ruleset: Traditional, modified —> continuous gameplay, unlimited tiles_ **

** _>> New game initialized_ **

_kdetmer - _Hey guys!

_jowosekun _\- Great idea, Keyla.

_grhys - _Aww, only English?

_kdetmer - _I could have made it twentieth-century dictionary only :D

_grhys - _You’re not that evil.

_> kdetmer has changed their name to borntofly _

_borntofly - _Wanna bet?

_hculber - _Rhys, you’re outgunned. As your physician, I highly recommend not trying to one-up a pilot.

_> grhys has changed their name to tacticalguy_

_borntofly - _Thanks Dr. C!

_tacticalguy_ \- Hugh, I thought we were friends >:(

_hculber_ \- As your friend, I’d suggest you listen to your doctor :)

_tacticalguy_ \- Aww, come on guys...Stamets, help me out?

_pstamets_ \- I’m going to wipe the floor with everyone, so...no.

> _jowosekun has changed their name to owoknows _

_stilly - _Sorry I’m late, did I miss anything?

_owoknows_ \- Just Rhys being a pain.

_> jreno has changed their name to gearhead _

_gearhead - _Free entertainment.

_> hculber has changed their name to operadoc_

_borntofly - _Everyone’s here now, right?

_owoknows_ \- I think so. Who’s starting?

_> stilly has changed their name to redengineer_

_> pstamets has changed their name to blondhottie_

_gearhead - _Seriously?

_blondhottie_ \- I didn’t change it? 

_> blondhottie has changed their name to funguy _

_owoknows_ \- LOL

_borntofly_ \- Omg Stamets, that’s awesome!

_funguy_ \- What the hell? 

_gearhead_ \- I didn’t think the Mushroom Lord had a sense of humor.

_funguy_ \- Ha ha

_> funguy has changed their name to titaniummushroom _

_tacticalguy - _Stamets, you might have a security breach on your access. Run a diagnostic?

_owoknows - _Specifically only during group Scrabble that messes with his name? 

_redengineer - _That’s awfully specific.

_titaniummushroom - _I don’t see anything.

_borntofly - _It seems pretty harmless?

_owoknows - _The most recent system backups didn’t show any corrupted files, so it’s not a tech glitch. 

_owoknows_ \- Ops are all normal too.

_> titaniummushroom has changed their name to shroominator_

_shroominator - _What. The. Hell.

_shroominator - _Nothing wrong in Engineering, Tilly can you check the computer core from the Bridge?

_redengineer - _Nothing. Log shows the changes coming from your access codes?

_tacticalguy - _Someone hacked Stamets’ codes?

_owoknows - _Who would?

_gearhead - _Not me. 

_shroominator _\- Wait.

_shroominator - _I know who it is.

_owoknows - _Who?

_borntofly - _Who is it?

_> shroominator has changed their name to hughssweetie_

_operadoc__ \- _:)

_borntofly - _Aww, that’s cute.

_gearhead - _Can you two make kissy faces somewhere else?

_hughssweetie - ..._

_owoknows_ \- Ohh. He was being pretty quiet.

_tacticalguy - _Wait, Hugh was hacking him?

_redengineer - _Huh. It’s not showing up as a spoofed identity. Even I can’t hack that cleanly.

_redengineer - _Umm. I only hack for completely official Starfleet reasons.

_gearhead - _They’re not monitoring chats, pretty sure your secret is safe with us.

_> hughssweetie has changed their name to sporeguy_

_sporeguy - _Thats because he didn’t hack in.

_operadoc - _Took you long enough to catch on ;)

_tacticalguy - _You’re using your PADD for this though, right Stamets? So how’s he got access?

_operadoc - _I know all his codes.

_owoknows - _That makes sense now.

_> operadoc has changed their name to badhummer _

_sporeguy - _I know his too.

_borntofly - _This is awesome.

_gearhead -_ I did not need to know that much about your sex life, Stamets.

_redengineer - ..._

_sporeguy - _What?

_sporeguy - _What’s that supposed to mean? Reno?

_badhummer -_ O:)

_sporeguy - _Bad at humming KASSEELIAN OPERA!

_owoknows - _I thought their vocal structure meant that humans can’t reproduce the music?

_borntofly - _But I’ve heard you sing, Dr. C. It sounds nice. Classic Earth musicals, right?

_redengineer - _Dr. Culber sings?

_tacticalguy_ \- You didn’t know that?

_owoknows_ \- I didn’t know that either.

_gearhead_ \- I’d like to point out the irony in that statement.

_borntofly - _LOL :P she’s right Jo.

_sporeguy - _ANYWAY. 

_> badhummer has changed their name to paulshugh_

_owoknows - _That’s really sweet.

_redengineer - _And kind of weird.

_redengineer - _Not that him loving Stamets is weird! 

_paulshugh - _I know what you meant, Tilly.

_sporeguy -_ Detmer, aren’t we supposed to be playing Scrabble?

_borntofly - _This is better :)

_gearhead - _Much as it pains me to say the words...

_gearhead - _He’s right.

_sporeguy - _What’s that, Reno?

_gearhead - _Nope, I’m only saying that once. Begrudgingly.

_ **>> Gameplay initialized by sporeguy** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Titanium Mushroom” is a random nickname someone gave me on a bowling scorecard during summer advising before my freshman year of undergrad. Seriously. No idea where it came from, but it felt like the perfect time to use it :)
> 
> Hugh is feeling extra playful here. I hope it wasn’t OOC? Contemplating a second part where they actually play Scrabble...


	162. Scrabble, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group Scrabble shenanigans continue from the previous chapter.

_ **>> Tile distribution complete** _

_ **>> Expanded board selected --> Unlimited rows and columns** _

_tacticalguy - _Ugh, these tiles suck.

_owoknows - _So who goes first?

_tacticalguy - _Does it matter? We're not capping the score, right?

_borntofly _\- Don't be too mad Stamets, that was awesome :D

_borntofly_ \- shroominator LOL

_redengineer - _I'm just glad there isn't a hacker with that level of skill.

_sporeguy_ \- Just a doctor who might be sleeping on the couch later.

_paulshugh_ \- Aww, are you mad at me babe?

_sporeguy _\- No, I'm...peeved.

_paulshugh_ \- >:(

_tacticalguy - _He wouldn't really Hugh, would he?

_gearhead -_ Oh quit it Stamets, I can see you from here.

_sporeguy_ \- Aren’t you supposed to be in a Jeffries Tube somewhere?

_gearhead - _I am. It just happens to be the one above your mushroom cube. 

_gearhead_ \- I can see you smiling from here.

_tacticalguy - _Bustedddddddddd.

_paulshugh - _Medical log: Grumpy patient has responded well to humor treatment. Symptoms have undergone a temporary enhancement, but will most likely subside.

_owoknows_ \- I'm saving the chat log.

_borntofly_ \- Thanks Jo :)

_redengineer_ \- So umm. About the game?

_paulshugh - _Paul?

_gearhead - _He's fine, doc. 

_gearhead - _If he sticks that lower lip out any further though, one of his engineering minions is going to trip over it.

_sporeguy - _Have I mentioned, I don't like you?

_gearhead _\- Feeling's mutual, bobcat.

_redengineer - _Ooooookay, this is getting awkward again.

_tacticalguy_ \- Gotta admit Stamets, that was funny :P

_sporeguy_ \- I'm not admitting anything.

_borntofly - _Aww, how can you be mad at Dr. C? 

_owoknows_ \- Don't the rules say the oldest person starts?

_sporeguy - _Ha! Grease monkey, that's you.

_gearhead_ \- It's called experience. 

_gearhead - _Clearly some people respect that.

_redengineer -_ Go ahead Reno.

_ **>> gearhead plays SPANNER --> 9 points + 50 point full tile bonus** _

** _>> gearhead: 59_ **

_sporeguy_ \- What?! How did you just _happen_ to have all seven match up like that?

_tacticalguy - _Nice one!

_borntofly - _Oh man. 

_redengineer - _Stamets, I think you're next.

_ **>> sporeguy plays ROOTS --> 5 points**_

_ **>> sporeguy: 5** _

_ **>> gearhead: 59** _

_gearhead - _Still planning on wiping the deck with that score?

_sporeguy - _It's the first word.

_borntofly_ \- Dr. C, you're next.

_tacticalguy - _Then it's Jo, Keyla, me, and Tilly, right?

_owoknows -_ Yes.

_redengineer _\- Why do I have to go last?

_gearhead_ \- Because you weren't even a zygote when I got commissioned.

_redengineer_ \- I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.

_redengineer_ \- Eww.

_sporeguy - _What? Why?

_redengineer - _I refuse to consider my parents doing...that.

_owoknows_ \- I'm with Tilly on that one.

_sporeguy - _...right. 

_sporeguy_ \- Hugh? 

_sporeguy_ \- It's your turn.

_tacticalguy - _We should get Bryce and Nilsson and Burnham in on this.

_redengineer - _Probably not Michael.

_borntofly - _Why not?

_redengineer - _I just meant, she's been spending a lot of time with Booker lately. I don't think she'd join if she couldn't play properly.

_redengineer_ \- Also, her vocabulary? Is scary.

_owoknows_ \- Michael and Book, ehh?

_gearhead - _Doc, you going to play a word?

_sporeguy - _Hugh, are you mad at me? I didn't mean it.

_tacticalguy - _Try comming him?

_sporeguy - _I have been.

_tacticalguy - _Oh.

_tacticalguy_ \- Wait, Hugh are you ignoring Stamets?

_borntofly_ \- Dr. C? is everything okay?

_paulshugh - _Sorry, couple of sprained ankles and a concussion came in, I had my comm off. 

_paulshugh_ \- I wasn't trying to ignore you, sweetheart. You know that, right? 

_paulshugh - _I know you didn't mean it, looking forward to snuggling later. 

_paulshugh_ \- Naked snuggling, in case that wasn't clear. If you're still worried, you can make it up to me >:)

_paulshugh - _<3 xoxo

_redengineer - _Ummm.

_owoknows_ \- I don't think that was meant for us.

_paulshugh - _Fuck.

_paulshugh_ \- Wrong message string.

_gearhead - _I'm going to need some of Tilly's memory deletion now.

_paulshugh_ \- So clearly those weren't supposed to post here. 

_tacticalguy -_ Yeah.

_gearhead - _Shit happens.

_redengineer - _Right, it wasn't too embarrassing!

_redengineer - _I'm sort of an expert on embarrassment and that barely counts.

_owoknows_ \- Stamets?

_gearhead - _He's hiding under a console.

_paulshugh_ \- Paul? I'm sorry. 

_sporeguy _\- I wasn't hiding, there was a blown relay I needed to fix. Still on duty and everything even if it's a slow day.

_sporeguy_ \- What did I miss? 

_sporeguy_ \- Oh.

_paulshugh_ \- That wasn't supposed to go to the group.

_gearhead _\- NOW he's hiding under the console.

_gearhead - _Man, I didn't know humans could turn that shade of red.

_gearhead_ \- He just flipped me off.

_redengineer - _Reno...

_borntofly_ \- Hang on, I'll fix it.

_ **>> borntofly has deleted previous messages (10) from paulshugh** _

_ **>> Chat log buffer updating** _

_ **>> Update complete** _

_paulshugh - _Thank you, Keyla.

_paulshugh_ \- Umm, Gen? Can I bunk with you tonight?

_tacticalguy - _What?

_paulshugh - _I think the couch probably isn't far enough away.

_tacticalguy_ \- Sure.

_owoknows - _It's okay, we're all friends.

_owoknows - _Stamets? 

_sporeguy - _Don't you dare go hide with Rhys.

_sporeguy_ \- You just promised me snuggling in front of everyone. I expect you to pay up.

** _> paulshugh has changed their name to verysorrypartner_ **

_verysorrypartner - _Promise.

_gearhead - _Now that we all know way more than we needed, it's your turn doc.

_verysorrypartner - _What?

_gearhead - _This Scrabble game that we're nominally playing.

_ **>> verysorrypartner plays GROVEL --> 10 points + 10 point double word score ** _

_ **>> verysorrypartner: 20** _

_ **>> sporeguy: 5** _

_**>> gearhead: 59**_

_sporeguy -_ Definite groveling required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued! 
> 
> Using most of the actors' real ages (with a couple of exceptions):  
Tig Notaro - 49  
Anthony Rapp - 49  
Wilson Cruz - 47  
Oyin Oladejo - 35  
Mary Wiseman - 35 (Tilly is obviously much younger)  
Emily Coutts - 31  
Patrick Kwok-Choon - ?? (I can't seem to find an age for him)


	163. Sure

Paul Stamets knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with Hugh Culber long before the first time they have sex.

The first time they have sex is long after the first time they make love, because their long-distance courtship gives precious few opportunities to be physically together and every encounter takes on new meaning.

He knows he’s in love that day at the Met, Hugh eagerly tugging him from painting to painting, talking a light year a minute about elements and abstract concepts, and Paul follows with a look of wonder not for the paintings but for the man whose heart is so very, very beautiful.

He thinks he hears Hugh whisper “I love you” into his cheek as he dozes on the couch that evening, worn out from miles of walking and the giddy exhilaration of his own feelings.

The first time they make love is a revelation, and in between cries of pleasure Paul thinks, _no wonder it was always so disappointing before, because it’s meant to be like **this**._

Paul’s awash with sensation, but the most overwhelming of all is the tenderness with which Hugh holds him, fingers caressing his cheek in soothing strokes as he whimpers when he tries to take Hugh all at once.

He’s the one to slow down and make sure Paul isn’t in pain, holding back until the discomfort fades and he’s mewling in a desperate plea for “_more, _Hugh, **_please_**!”.

Hugh makes love to him with his entire body, the weight of his chest bearing Paul down to the sheets, his hands roaming everywhere, lips locked together as every roll of his hips pushes Paul closer to the edge.

Hugh’s eyes are burning with desire and lust, but it’s the wonder and joy in Paul’s pleasure that he’ll never forget, the delight written on Hugh’s face as he writhes and moans and paints their stomachs with his release.

He sees it when Hugh starts to pull out after, considerate and seemingly surprised as Paul clings to him with wobbly limbs and begs Hugh to keep going.

And when he’s holding Hugh to his chest as he comes and comes, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek while he shakes, he feels that same joy and knows they’re meant for each other.


	164. Stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 pre-“Terra Firma”.

“Stranded on some godforsaken lump of rock that barely qualifies as a planet with a walking case of anxiety, a doctor with a savior complex, and his mushroom-obsessed bed warmer,” Georgiou bemoans dramatically, “in sub-zero temperatures with no hope of Discovery beaming us out until tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m even down here.”

The walking case of anxiety pauses in her jittery pacing, hands tucked in her armpits and glaring past a curtain of red curls let down from her braid to help trap warm air.

”You bullied your way past Nilsson and beamed down with us.”

”Worst idea ever. Not only is this planet boring, there’s not even any entertainment. I might have to amuse myself by killing you all in your sleep.”

Hugh looks up from where he’s leaning against Paul’s side reviewing tricorder readings together, and Paul shivers at the draft when they separate. It’s petty, but he’ll add being annoying enough that Hugh moved to his list of grievances with Georgiou.

”Cut the ‘deadlier than thou’ BS,” Hugh manages to make his voice both cutting and calm, “we all know if you were going to kill us, you’d have done it already.”

He pretends to be engrossed in the analysis of the planet’s core - its wildly skewed orbit doesn’t align with its composition - but is mostly busy watching Georgiou try to push his partner off balance. When he looks up, the Terran Emperor is literally toe to toe with Hugh whose hands are folded together primly, not crossing his arms or any other sign of defensiveness. Instead, he meets her stare levelly, a mask of professional disinterest in place and for all intents unflappable. Of course, behind and off to the side, Paul can see Hugh’s tell that’s otherwise hidden from her.

Well.

Paul bites the inside of his cheek as something below the waist gives a poorly-timed hopeful twitch when Hugh tenses the muscles of his ass in response to whatever she just said. _Hugh Being Assertive_ (from the front or the back) is right up there on the list of his turn-ons, along with _Hugh Being Casually Competent_ and _Hugh Eating Peanut Butter Cups In Bed._

Tilly comes to stand next to him, sharing a look as Hugh and Georgiou continue their standoff.

”Who are you posturing for? I don’t see any other Terrans to impress.”

”...you know what I’d do to you if you were on my ship?”

”You wouldn’t know what to do with me, Philippa.”

A crunch of gravel under her boots as Georgiou shifts her stance a little wider. 

“What makes you think you have the right to use my name?”

”Would you like me to stop?”

As a doctor, his partner prided himself in always using respectful address. Paul’s not sure if there’s an opposite to that, because ‘disrespectful’ doesn’t really describe it. Pointed then, with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

”...pfffft. Your attempts to exert dominance over me are amusing. Amateur, but amusing.”

Despite the uncomfortable situation, Paul snorts. Hugh is _very good_ at exerting verbal dominance when he wants to be.

”Commander?”

Tilly’s frowning at the holo-display with her own readings, fussing with the controls before collapsing it back into her combadge.

”Hmm?”

”Bad news.”

Paul peels his eyes off Hugh examining his sleeve cuffs while Georgiou circles him slowly, seemingly searching for a weakness.

” ‘Bad’ as in ‘the warp core is about to breach’ or ‘Linus accidentally ate peanut butter and is gassier than a nebula’?”

”Bad as in the temperature is going to drop another seven to ten degrees in the next hour.”

”You’re sure?”

”The planet’s rotation means it’ll be turned away from its star for six hours starting in about forty five minutes.”

He winces, sighing and collapsing his own holo-display. None of them are wearing tactical vests or heavy field jackets, not planning to be stranded in the cold as the planet neared its night cycle. They’re already closer to freezing than he’s generally comfortable with, and a drop of even five degrees would bring them far enough below to put them all in serious danger of hypothermia. 

_Just what we need._

“Hugh?”

His partner glances over his shoulder at the sound of his name.

”You should be telling him what to do, not responding to his beck and call,” Georgiou scoffs, “what’s the appeal anyway? Stamets was always so...uninspired in bed.”

Tilly pauses with her mouth open, breath fanning out in a cloud of steam.

Paul closes his with a snap that rattles his teeth before something extremely uncomplimentary comes out. 

Hugh, on the other hand, just smiles with cheerful condescension.

”Maybe you just didn’t know how to properly inspire a man of his skill. Or taste.”

A scornful snort.

”Skill? For a man who doesn’t like a little pain in his foreplay?”

Tilly makes a noise like an old-fashioned kettle about to boil. 

Smile fading, Hugh arches an eyebrow and his tone hardens.

“Was it pain, or humiliation?”

Paul clenches his jaw, reminding himself that Georgiou is just trying to goad them for the sadistic pleasure of it.

_It’s working._

”How should I know? No passion,” Georgiou’s boots on the cavern floor punctuate her words in a way that has to be deliberate, “at all. Completely limp. Useless.”

”Okay,” Tilly blurts out, “I’m going to go inventory our uhhh...the contents of the field packs.”

She stands and grabs their bags, moving as far away from them as the cavern allows.

”I thought you were having massive kinky orgies with him.”

”Surprise, Doctor. I lied. He was so...unenthusiastic.”

Paul’s torn between joining Tilly and staying to watch the confrontation play out. Why Georgiou’s decided to fixate on his apparent performance in bed, he’d rather not consider. The implication that his counterpart did anything remotely sexual with the Emperor is an effective damper on any residual thrill to be had from Hugh’s current attitude.

”You on the other hand...”

Her fingers land on Hugh’s shoulder and start heading towards his neck. Between one blink and the next, Hugh’s gripping her wrist and Paul nearly leaps forward. He’s wearing a phaser, but pulling it on someone nominally a part of the crew - in the loosest definition of living in the ship - isn’t something he wants to report to Saru (“Sorry Captain, but she was touching my fully clothed partner after insulting my sexual performance”). Hugh’s expression is still a veneer of pleasantry, but his bicep bulges with the effort of holding Georgiou’s hand in place.

”My universe, my rules. I’m not yours to touch. He isn’t either.”

Georgiou pulls her hand free with a lascivious leer.

”Oh papi, I know how you like to be touched.”

_Fuck this._

Paul takes two steps towards them, stopping when the fingers of Hugh’s hand hanging by his side splay wide, palm facing him.

_I’ve got this, _the gesture says, _stay back._

”You’re a terrible liar,” Hugh informs her, “and you’ll never know what you’re missing.”

”Stamets face down and screaming while you’re railing him-“

“You know, I pity you.”

Hugh’s crisp diction hangs in the cold air and Georgiou’s face freezes halfway between malicious glee and surprise.

”What did you just say?”

“You’ll never be able to understand what it means to be with someone without fear. Never know what it’s like to trust them so completely that what you do in bed becomes an act of love. And I feel sorry for you, that you think it’s a weakness. Enough with the games,” he shakes his head, “I’m not interested.”

Whatever she’s about to say next is cut off when Tilly’s voice rises.

”Guys? We’ve only got two emergency thermal blankets.”

Paul frowns.

”What was in her bag then?”

Georgiou rolls her eyes.

“Who needs a blanket? I brought backup in case someone showed up with real weapons.”

”...two grenades, a knife, water, and tactical rope.”

”Well,” Hugh sighs, “none of that is going to be useful when the temperature goes sub-zero.”

In the few minutes since Tilly took her readings, it’s already gone significantly colder, and his breath puffs out in a cloud of steam. Hugh takes a step back from Georgiou before crossing to accept the blanket Tilly is holding out. He unfurls it, tucking Paul against his side under its shelter in the same motion. Hugh’s always run hot, and while it makes sharing a bed in a tropical climate sticky in more than one way, he’s grateful for it now. Under cover of the insulating fabric, he snakes an arm around Hugh’s waist and is rewarded with a small smile. Paul rubs firm circles on his partner’s back, feeling more of the tension drain out, and tucks his fingers into Hugh’s waistband a few moments later.

_He really does have a hot ass._

Sub-zero isn’t going to be much fun, but sharing body heat means they probably won’t end up with frostbite. At least, he assumes Hugh would say something if that were the case. And an excuse to snuggle with him is always welcome, even if they can’t really sleep tonight. Except-

_Oh_.

Tilly has the other blanket still folded, held against her chest like a barrier as Georgiou faces her and manages to give the impression of a snake about to strike.

”Damn,” Hugh’s voice is quiet, just for him, breath warming Paul’s ear, “we can’t leave her like that.”

”One of us’ll have to share with Tilly, then, and-“

”Yeah.”

The other two are having their own staring contest, and Paul closes his own eyes briefly when Hugh’s warm lips brush his cheek. While he’d love to give his partner a real kiss, there’s no way he’s going to do that with the Terran half of their present company.

”I’ll take her,” Hugh murmurs against his temple, “it’ll be fine.”

”Which ‘her’?”

He has a sinking suspicion he knows what Hugh is going to say.

”I don’t want Georgiou touching you. Take Tilly, you two can nerd out over the scans of the planet's core.”

”I don’t want her with you either, Hugh. Not after whatever the hell that was.”

Despite the situation, he’s pleased when Hugh smiles a little at his protective umbrage.

“Well. Think we can fit three under one of these?”

”Probably. Is that going to be awkward?”

”Less awkward than the alternative. Either one, actually.”

Paul gives Hugh’s hip a squeeze before pulling his hand out from the back of his pants. It’s a shame, because his fingers were nice and toasty there.

”Tilly.”

”Sir?”

”Give her the blanket.”

Georgiou raises an eyebrow.

”Any of you have the spine to join me?”

Ignoring her, Hugh extends an arm, both shivering when a blast of cold air enters their pocket of warmth.

”Get over here, Tilly. Bring your pack.”

”I don’t...?”

She casts a dubious glance back at Georgiou, who has the blanket wrapped around her and seems to be polishing a nasty looking knife.

”Come on, Hugh’s letting all the heat out.”

Hugh sets the pack on a ledge to insulate them from the cold stone, sitting down and pulling both of them with him. It’s less awkward than he expected, mostly because they’re both focusing on Tilly shivering against them. Paul takes her hands, folding them between his own, while Hugh tries to find a way to keep the drafts out. Tilly has her shoulders hunched as small as possible, but there doesn’t seem to be quite enough blanket for three even huddled together. A gust of wind whips into the cave, setting his teeth chattering.

”Sorry Tilly.”

”For what?”

Hugh tosses an apologetic smile before handing her the edge of the blanket and maneuvering around until Paul’s in the middle. It leaves half of Tilly outside its shelter, and Paul frowns.

“She’s going to freeze like tha- what?”

The hand on his thigh is tugging in a particular way, and it takes his brain a moment to catch on.

”Now?”

“Now.”

He squirms over, moving until he’s on Hugh’s lap. There’s just enough slack after that to pull Tilly against their sides and bring the edges of the silvery thermal fabric together in one hand.

“Okay, Tilly?”

”What?”

She raises her nose from where it’s pressed to Paul’s shoulder.

”Are you warm enough?”

”I should be asking you guys that.”

Hugh tightens the arm around Paul’s waist, hand splayed under his ribs in a reassuring grip.

”We’re probably better off, but I don’t think you want to trade places with Paul.”

”...umm. Yeah. I mean, no. That’s- right.”

“I wasn’t expecting this when I woke up this morning,” Paul shoots a glance at Georgiou who’s watching them with an unreadable expression, “but it beats someone having to get cozy with...”

”What were you planning to call me?”

Georgiou manages to look predatory even with a blanket over most of her head.

“...a sociopathic Terran.”

She snorts, and Paul decides retreat is the better part of valor, turning until he can hide behind Tilly’s hair. 

It’s a long eight hours, chilled to the core despite the shared body heat. Tilly abandons any self-consciousness two and a half hours later, tipping further against him. Paul shifts to let her head rest on his chest, holding her hands against his side beneath his arm (both of his hands and one of Hugh’s are between his thighs just below his groin, and he doesn’t think either of them would survive the awkwardness if he invited Tilly to join). Hugh’s face is tucked against the side of his neck, ostensibly to conserve warmth, and the tiny kisses he keeps sneaking just above his collar go a long way towards mitigating the situation. 

For her part, Georgiou passes the time sitting on her own pack on the other side of the cave, leaning on a rock warmed via phaser blast. Hugh had offered an olive branch of his own body heat five hours in, but she’d scoffed and gone back to watching them with narrowed eyes.

The sound of Discovery hailing them is the most welcome thing he’s heard all day, visions of a hot shower and something to eat besides protein cubes propelling him back to his feet. Back aboard, Tracy quickly clears the three of them of any injuries before sending them off with instructions to drink something warm and sleep. 

Despite the allure of hot water, he and Hugh don’t linger in the shower and are tucked under the covers together ten minutes after bidding Tilly goodnight. It feels heavenly to snuggle with Hugh, mug of hot chocolate warming his fingers and, most importantly, no Terran staring at them. They share a bowl of oatmeal in comfortable silence, and Paul finally feels thawed by the time they turn off the lights. 

“Sleep now, talk in the morning?”

The exhaustion is catching up with him, because Paul mutters a response that makes Hugh chuckle with tired affection. He feels a kiss on his temple, then burrows further under the covers until he’s surrounded in a pocket of Hugh-scented warmth.

They sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a simple idea - huddling for warmth when circumstances mean Hugh and Paul will have to split up. Tilly and Georgiou is such a delightfully uncomfortable dynamic that it made sense for it to be them, and then the story sort of spiraled out of control from humorous to Hugh basically calling Georgiou out on every bluff, to a little bit of drama and then trying to be sweet.
> 
> Promise I’ve not abandoned the “Terra Firma” MU stories! Thinking about breaking out my MU fics into a separate multi-chapter story, but need to do from a computer instead of my phone.


	165. Suffocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR S3E12 ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All dialogue taken straight from the episode.
> 
> Warning: Mention of suicidal despair (grief response, not ideation)

“We have to jump back now,” Paul slams a canister into place. “He’s in the nebula and so is Saru-“

”We have to get you off this ship!”

All he can see when he looks at Michael is betrayal.

”They’ll die.”

He shouldn’t have to state the obvious to remind her of it.

”I know.”

He rounds on her, hand shaking violently as he points in accusation.

“I already lost him once, I can’t go through that again. And, Adira, what would I tell them?”

”Adira’s with them.”

Blood pounds in his ears and he can’t breathe.

“No.”

It comes out as a desperate sob. Paul shakes his head as the words sink in, slowly, and then faster and faster. There’s a terrible suffocating sickness twisting around his chest, one he’s only too familiar with.

Loss.

> _Hugh’s body, lying cold and still under a stasis field._

Part of his heart and soul ripped away.

> _Watching them lower the casket, Aida’s tears falling on his cheek as he collapses over her lap and cries for them to bury him too so he can lay down to sleep with Hugh for eternity._

He won’t let that happen again.

Michael grabs his arm.

_Get off me._

”Hey-“

”Let. Go. Of me,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

He can see it in her eyes, the belief that she’s right, that her way is the only way and she’s prepared to force it on everyone.

_Betrayal_.

“I can’t do that.”

”Let me go!”

Michael’s strong, but with his desperation Paul’s stronger. He shrugs her off violently, hands on the spore cube door.

Her hands whirl him around, caging his face in a horrible parody of Hugh’s gentle tenderness.

Never touching Hugh again. 

Never kissing him.

Never waking to see his smile.

_Betrayal_.

”Paul!”

_Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshut**UP**!_

“My WHOLE LIFE is in the nebula!”

> _Hugh whispering “I love you, sweetheart”._
> 
> _Adira asleep on their couch after dinner, Paul and Hugh sitting with them at 0309 when they wake from a nightmare of losing Gray._

_No._

He shoulders her off, reaches for the door, but she grabs him again. In any other situation Paul would never raise a hand to harm her, but he can’t let her stop him.

He feels fingers on his shoulder, then-

_Nothing_.

* * *

He wakes up with Michael programming an emergency escape field strapped to his chest. Whatever she did left him groggy, and the force field bubbles to life before he can move, restraining him.

”Michael,” he begs, held up only by the field, “they’re my whole life.”

> _Opening his eyes in the future to see Hugh smiling down at him._
> 
> _Despair transforming to radiant joy._
> 
> _Hugh’s lips on his, sweet and soft._
> 
> _Holding Hugh their first night back together, his heartbeat under Paul’s cheek, Paul made whole again._

Michael is going to take that all from him a second time.

She won’t meet his eyes, focused only on her goal, her way, refusing to see any other.

_Betrayal_.

“Look at me!” 

The phaser hums behind him.

“They’ll die a terrible, painful death! Dammit Michael, LOOK AT ME!”

His throat is raw, eyes burning with tears that refuse to fall. The universe won’t give Hugh back a third time.

> _Playing the piano with Adira on their cello, Hugh leaning on the doorway with a smile._

Michael the zealot throws out an excuse about the Federation. Always her excuse, her justification, her righteous torch that burns those in her way as she runs roughshod over the people who care for her.

> _Hugh teasing Adira about Gray getting them into trouble._

The Federation can fall for all he cares, this pale, broken shadow of an ideal.

> _Making love again for the first time, the love in Hugh’s eyes eclipsing everything else._

She starts backing away.

”No no no, we have time,” he nods frantically, eyes beseeching her to look at him, to listen.

She seals the airlock.

This can’t be happening.

_Betrayal_.

”No-“ he has just enough room to turn and see the phaser about to overload, “no.”

How dare she?

He made the decision to jump with her, thinking he was leaving any chance with Hugh behind. 

The universe gave him and Hugh an impossible third chance, and there’s nothing left of Paul Stamets’ heart without Hugh Culber. Adira coming into their lives gave him the child, the family he never knew was missing. 

_Betrayal_.

”We came to the future for you! We followed you! _Hugh_ followed you-“ he spits, “we gave up EVERYTHING so you wouldn’t have to be here alone! How can you DO this?!”

She has the audacity to have tears in her eyes, shrugging as if there’s no other choice.

”I’m sorry.”

”Michael!”

The phaser explodes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear: I am not a Michael hater. What’s she’s just done to Paul though? I cannot.
> 
> Anthony’s raw emotion in these scenes tore my heart out. I feel like an exposed nerve right now.
> 
> I understand why Hugh isn’t in this episode, but I hate that his name gets dropped from the credits.


	166. Subspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Paul and Hugh's comms pre-Discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this another apology for the angst in the previous chapters. Sexytimes and dirty talk below.

“_What’s the first thing you’ll do when you come aboard?”_

Hugh feels a smile stretching his lips, propping himself up on one elbow to look into Paul’s eyes. Well, as much as possible given the PADD and hundred light years between them right now.

”You.”

”_Oh_?”

The single syllable is laden with promise.

”Yes,” Hugh rolls onto his stomach, moving the PADD to his pillow.

_"Are you propositioning me, Doctor Culber?"_

"Yes, Doctor Stamets, I believe I am."

“_Do tell.”_

“I- anything. Everything. I just need to touch you.”

”_Are you planning to kiss me first, or should I just be face down, ass up on the-“_

”When have I ever treated you that way?”

Hugh tries to pretend he’s affronted, but it’s a lost cause and he gives in to a wicked grin.

Onscreen, the covers rustle, shifting over Paul’s chest as he moves to hold his PADD with one hand. He’s a vision from Hugh’s daydreams, static-laden hair unstyled and clinging to the pillowcase, propped up sleepy-eyed and relaxed.

”_Every time I’ve asked you to,_” comes the honest reply, “_and that time last year.”_

They've had other reunions driven by lust, reconnecting through sheer physicality to sate desire before turning to softer things. He’s certainly not opposed to getting reacquainted with Paul’s body by way of a filthy, rough fuck, but after this long...

“That doesn’t count, we were using stims and only had three hours. This time, I’m kissing you before we do anything else. I want to hold you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to have you in my arms. To wake up together every day.”

“_So much, Hugh,” _thecovers shift again, Paul’s shoulder twitching, “_It **was** really good sex though. Even with the people in the next room banging on the wall.”_

A spark of heat winds its way down Hugh’s spine, settling low in his belly, and he absently rocks his hips against the sheets at the memory.

”I had my hand over your mouth, but babe, you were practically screaming.”

”_Not my fault, you had to let go to kiss. Was that the third? Or the fourth one we were working on.”_

”Can’t remember. Were we still on the bed?”

Paul licks his lips, eyes gone distant for a moment. When he refocuses, Hugh can see how they’ve gone dark with desire.

“_Yeah. I was riding you...”_ his voice is going rough, the husky murmur traveling straight to where Hugh’s interest is growing, “_fuck, you felt so good_.”

“I love watching you like that.”

”_Like what?_”

”When you’re so turned on you can’t speak, you just get this look-“ Hugh grins, “and you just...fuck, the way you look at me and I can feel it.”

”_Possibly because your dick is up my ass?”_

“That too. But I do love making you feel good.”

”_You do.”_

He’s distracted by the soft susurrus of sheets sliding over skin. It’s too regular to just be Paul fidgeting, which means-

“You know, if you’re masturbating while we’re talking, the least you can do is let me watch.”

Instead of anything resembling embarrassment at being caught, Paul catches his lower lip between his teeth, biting down. He tips his chin up, eyes falling half-closed as he moans quietly. Hugh can’t look away, simultaneously aroused and frustrated that he can’t reach out and touch his partner, can’t nuzzle his neck and brush his hand aside to take over.

”Wha-“ he swallows hard, “what are you thinking about?”

”_Sucking you off._”

“Mmmm. You’re so good at it, sweetheart, love your mouth.”

The view on the screen rolls towards the ceiling, then Paul's palm, until he's got the PADD propped up next to him on the bed and scoots back far enough that his body is visible from head to thighs. His skin is just beginning to flush, throat and cheeks turning pink as he resumes stroking his erection. Paul doesn't seem to be in any hurry, leisurely pulls and lazily rolling his hips up to fuck his curled fingers. Hugh's mouth waters, lips parted and tingling. 

_"Enjoying the show?"_

His impish smile says that Paul knows the answer, but wants to hear it anyway.

"You...have no idea, sweetheart. Want you so much."

_"Tell me."_

"I want to go down on you, suck you until you come in my mouth. Tease you until you're hard again, rub myself on your ass until I can ride you, take all of that beautiful dick."

Paul's hand stutters, and he turns onto his side to give Hugh a better view of the rosy head peeking out from his fist with every flick of his wrist.

_"Yeah?"_

Nodding, Hugh humps the bed a little harder. It's too hard, too flat, isn't Paul's body rising up to meet him. He pulls a pillow down under himself, moaning as he ruts into it.

"Want to...suck me too?"

_"Mmm. Can-" _Paul's eyes close for a moment, _"sixty-nine, see who comes first."_

Hugh squeezes his knees tighter, imagines it's Paul's waist.

"First to come gets fucked?"

_“That’s a non-incentive to hold off.”_

Despite the pounding arousal, he can’t help a chuckle at Paul’s faux-serious face.

”Fine. First to come gets fucked first?”

_”That’s better. Are you naked over there?”_

Instead of answering out loud, he lifts the PADD off the pillow, angling it down over his shoulder so Paul can see where he’s thrusting against the pillow between his thighs.

“..._fuck, you’re-_“ Paul’s voice catches and he closes his eyes briefly, “_you’re wearing_...”

Hugh glances at the tiny inset where his side of the comm is visible.

Oh. Right.

”Would you believe, I forgot I was wearing it?”

“..._no way did you go on duty with that on.”_

”No?”

”_Fuck, Hugh...it would show. Ev- everyone in the medbay could see.”_

True_._

He catches Paul’s eyes again with his best ‘come fuck me’ look - and he’s had years to practice it on this man - and arches his back before slowly rolling onto his side. Then he slides a hand down his chest, pausing to tease a nipple into a hardened peak, and drags his fingers over his hip to snap the dark blue strap hugging his ass cheek. The sound of it slapping back against his skin is drowned out by Paul’s obscene moan.

”Maybe I wanted everyone to know I was planning to come home and have comm sex with my partner.”

”_Hugh_...”

He doesn’t have to look, can hear the rasp of skin on skin as Paul’s hand speeds up. A few seconds later, he reaches the reason Paul knew he couldn’t have worn this anywhere but the bedroom, rubbing the prominent bulge with his palm. It’s not Paul’s warm, broad hand, but it’s a relief to finally get some proper friction. 

_“Wanna...see you. Please.”_

Paul’s starting to go breathless. Hugh kicks the underwear off, sets the PADD on the headboard and sits back on his heels. Groaning in frustration, he folds the pillow in half and clamps his knees back around it. Paul watches him with half-lidded eyes, eager as Hugh thrusts against the pillowcase. His partner is so small on the screen, but he can picture those gorgeous eyes going dark with desire, lashes matted with sweat.

He snatches a bundle of fabric off one of the other pillows, rubs his cheek against it as his hips rock faster. 

_”...is that- mmmhhh, my shirt?”_

Hugh buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply as he nods. Paul’s scent has faded, barely any left, and he needs a new one soon. 

Silence reigns as they work themselves harder. The mewls and hungry moans filtering across subspace make his balls throb.

_“Close.”_

“Mmmmm, that’s right babe. Gonna come for me?”

Paul’s other hand disappears between his thighs. Whatever he does makes his eyes slam shut as he twists his palm over the tip, panting.

”Come for me, beautiful. Show me what you want-“

With a strangled cry, Paul’s stomach tenses and his climax spills onto the sheets. It’s enough to push Hugh even closer to the edge, until Paul forces his eyes open, gasping out his satisfaction.

”Oh fuck, sweetheart, I-“

Hugh clenches his teeth, the tension in his groin turning to a wave of pleasure as he makes a mess of the pillowcase. He keeps rubbing against it until he’s too sensitive to continue, damp and out of breath.

_”Mmmm.”_

When he can focus again, Paul is using a discarded piece of clothing to wipe up the worst of the wet spot before tossing it over his shoulder. Hugh strips off the pillowcase and does the same, picking up his PADD and climbing under the covers.

”I miss you.”

_”I miss you more.”_

Onscreen, Paul flops like a landed fish for a moment, trying to reach the corner of the duvet. It’s a lost cause, and he gives up after another try, pushing himself up to move the six inches necessary to pull the covers up.

_”What?”_

“You...are adorable.”

_”Uh huh.”_

They both order the lights off, faces lit by the illumination from their PADDs.

”I think-“ Hugh yawns, “I better go before I fall asleep on you.”

_”I wish you were asleep on me.”_

There’s no point in repeating what they both know, so he just smiles and kisses his fingers before pressing them to the screen. Paul does the same, lingering as if they could touch each other across the light years.

”I love you.”

_”I love you too. Same time tomorrow?”_

”Mmhmm.”

“Sleep well, Hugh.”

”You too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this on April 23rd and today is January 1st. I think I was still shying away from going too explicit with Culmets in this collection of stories, and it ended up unfinished. No time like the present, right?


	167. Sum (Total)

Hugh Culber loves everything about Paul Stamets.

He loves his pale skin, how it can’t hide a blush or a bite mark.

He loves Paul’s eyes, so _blue, _a constantly changing kaleidoscope that shines or grows stormy depending on his mood.

He loves how Paul closes his eyes when they kiss, eyelashes fluttering.

He loves watching Paul sleep, propped up on his side and gently smoothing his hair back.

He loves the way Paul’s thighs squeeze his shoulders and his heels drum on Hugh’s back when he’s going down on him.

He loves how grumpy Paul is early in the morning, hair a staticky mess and pillow creases on his cheek.

He loves the little frown Paul gets when he’s trying to figure out if Hugh is up to something.

He loves how passionate Paul is about his science, words nearly stumbling over themselves when he’s excited.

He loves the way Paul talks with his hands, and always feels like he’s missing half the story when they’re on audio only comms.

He loves how Paul is shy and doesn’t like large groups of people, how he stays close to Hugh’s side and lets him lead.

He loves the way Paul looks at him, like Hugh is the only thing he can see.

He loves the way his nieces and nephews and second cousins surround Paul when Hugh brings him home because he’s endlessly patient and takes them all seriously.

He loves how noisy Paul is in bed, uninhibited and _loud_ while Hugh pleasures him.

He loves the way Paul’s stomach creases now when he’s sitting, the extra softness he has for Hugh to kiss and squeeze.

He loves his insistence that he hasn’t adopted Tilly and Adira, even though they both know he’s lying.

He even loves the things about Paul that he doesn’t like, not because he’s trying to be virtuous but because they’re part of the sum total that makes Paul who he is.

Paul Stamets is imperfect, and he’s perfect for Hugh Culber.


	168. Suggestion

“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.”

Tilly’s voice makes Adira pause two meters away from the door of the cultivation bay. They look around before turning, but everyone else seems to be operating as normal.

”Sorry?”

Behind them, Tilly has one hand on the view screen and the other resting on the console in front of her. 

“You’re looking for Stamets, right?”

”Yeah?”

”You should wait for him to come out.”

Adira blinks in confusion. Tilly appears to be completely serious.

”Why?”

“Interrupting him now isn’t a good idea.”

”But he’s just working on the irrigation system? And Doctor Culber just went in there to ask him a question.”

Tilly’s lips twitch, and they start to wonder what they’re missing.

”Did he say what he needed?”

“He said he wanted to discuss oxygen saturation levels.”

Next to the spore cube, one of the lieutenants - Harrington? - snorts loudly but doesn’t offer any other commentary.

”What?”

Harrington just shakes her head and goes back to her diagnostic.

”Is this...some kind of inside joke?”

Tilly comes around the console and beckons Adira closer until they’re just a foot or so away. 

“Doctor Culber doesn’t actually want to discuss oxygen saturation.”

”Oookay?”

She leans in conspiratorially and they frown as Tilly glances at the bay doors with a smile.

”That’s shorthand for Culber and Stamets making out behind the condenser unit.”

“...what?”

”Trust me, I had to learn the hard way. So unless you want to walk in on them kissing and it’s not urgent, you’re better off waiting out here.”

Adira takes a few moments to let that sink in.

”But why...”

Tilly’s gone back to tapping commands into the display.

”You know they’re together, right?”

Of course they’re aware of Stamets and Culber’s relationship, but isn’t it a bit unprofessional to meet up in the middle of the day and it’s hardly clandestine if everyone else seems to know?

”Obviously.”

”Stamets definitely got lucky last night.”

Both of their heads turn towards Harrington.

”Ummm, that’s weird that you know that.”

Tilly and Harrington share a look that Adira can’t decipher before shrugging.

”Actually, it’s kind of cute. Not that part,” Tilly hastens to add, “I mean, that they’re so into each other.”

“But they’re...old.”

Harrington drops her spanner.

”Yeah,” Tilly laughs, “I guess they are. Old people who have been through a whole hell of a lot more than any two people should have to go through, even with how many crazy things happen on this ship. And I think they’re trying not to waste time now that they have each other back.”

Her voice has softened, and Adira thinks Tilly looks a bit wistful. They don’t have anything else to say to that, and end up wandering back over to the telemetry calculations. 

When Stamets and Culber emerge from the bay ten minutes later, Adira wonders if Tilly and Harrington were mistaken because neither of them have a hair out of place. It’s not until an hour later when Stamets climbs out from under a console and pops his collar that they catch sight of what looks suspiciously like a bite mark on the side of his neck. Tilly sees it too and wiggles her eyebrows, and Harrington fake coughs loudly enough that Stamets turns to her with a look of confusion.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

Clearly, Adira still has a lot to learn.


	169. Sidestep, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The computer says it’s not sex pollen.

At first, it doesn’t seem like anything more than Paul feeling a little extra randy when he drops to his knees and starts sucking Hugh while he’s trying to brush his teeth. Paul’s usually more of an after-dinner sex kind of lover, but Hugh’s not going to complain. They end up with him white-knuckling the edge of the sink, Paul’s head bobbing between his thighs with a contented look in his sleepy eyes. It doesn’t take long until he’s swallowing down Hugh’s release. After one last lick, Paul carefully tucks him back into his pants, then gives his covered dick an affectionate pat before standing and reaching for his own toothbrush.

They’re running a bit behind thanks to the 0815 blowjob, so Hugh doesn’t get to return the favor and they have just enough time to grab a portable breakfast from the mess hall before going their separate ways. Tracy rolls her eyes good-naturedly when Hugh walks in, attuned enough to recognize the afterglow in his slightly vacant smile. 

“Paul for breakfast?” she asks with a smirk as he quickly finishes his scrambled egg burrito.

“Not quite,” he manages around a mouthful of tortilla and salsa.

”Suuuure.”

His shift is nothing out of the ordinary, Tracy performing a couple of routine checkups and the usual few crew members coming in with minor burns, headaches, and gastrointestinal complaints. Aisha’s off and Zarrin is recalibrating surgical equipment, so they mostly work quietly, moving around the medbay and occasionally calling the other over for an opinion.

He meets Paul for lunch, kissing him on the cheek as they sit in a secluded corner of the mess hall.

”What’s that for? Not that I’m objecting.”

”Thank you,” Hugh licks his lips, “for this morning.”

Paul just smiles, hooking his ankle around Hugh’s while they eat their sandwiches in comfortable silence. Then he’s off back to Engineering with a quick squeeze of fingers while Hugh goes to review the latest in nine hundred years of burn treatments.

They have a quiet dinner in their quarters, conversation ebbing and flowing. Paul excuses himself to the bathroom, and Hugh starts clearing the dishes. He’s reaching to retrieve Paul’s plate when warm hands land on his waist followed by a kiss to the back of the neck. Hugh smiles, leaning across the table for a stray napkin.

“Just a sec babe, let me- ohh. Hi there.”

As he’s bent over, Paul’s hips fit themselves snugly against his ass. He’s half hard already, humming in delight when Hugh abandons the dishes to brace his hands on the back of the chair and wiggle playfully. Paul thrusts against the cleft of his ass until they’re both ready to go, then he leads Hugh to bed by the waistband of his pajama pants. They end up with Paul on his hands and knees, face-first in the pillows while Hugh takes him apart from behind. The headboard gets involved at some point, although Hugh only notices because Paul’s clutching it while he whispers filthy suggestions in his ear. 

They’re both too exhausted after to talk much, propping themselves up to brush their teeth before crawling back to bed where Hugh passes out on the wet spot with Paul spooned up behind him.

”What’s gotten into you?” he teases his partner at breakfast the next morning.

Paul smirks.

”You did, last night.”

Tilly, coming to join them, pretends she didn’t hear that and conversation starts up about programmable matter conduits. Adira yawns their way in and is roped into the discussion with their oatmeal, and Hugh doesn’t get a chance to ask Paul about it again until they’re both in bed that night.

”Did I miss a memo on horny scientists?”

Paul looks up from where he’s nuzzling Hugh’s chest.

”Hmm?”

”Yesterday. That’s twice you jumped me. Have I been neglecting you?”

Casting his memory back over the last couple of weeks, as far as Hugh can tell they’re having a normal amount of sex. There’s been occasions where Paul seemingly out of the blue becomes insatiable, but it’s usually tied to something like a positive breakthrough on a project. He’s not aware of anything out of the ordinary at the moment.

”Do I need an excuse to want to make you come, dear doctor?”

”Of course not love, I was just...ahhh. Mmmm.”

He doesn’t finish the thought because Paul’s got the lube and his hand has snaked down Hugh’s pants and is doing wonderfully obscene things behind his balls. Hugh tries to set it aside in his mind for later, but it’s impossible to think when there are thick fingers opening him up and Paul is kissing him like his life depends on it. By the time Paul tugs him to the edge of the bed, Hugh’s legs slung over his shoulders, all other thoughts are abandoned in lieu of cries for _more, harder, faster_.

It isn’t until Paul is snoring into the pillow beside him that Hugh realizes that - for the first time in years - his partner managed to successfully dodge a question without him catching on. Frowning, he mentally reviews the last couple of days and carefully reaches for his tricorder on the nightstand. A scan doesn’t show anything out of the ordinary for Paul other than very mild dehydration and slightly lower levels of prolactin than Hugh would expect post-orgasm. It’s nothing to raise any warnings, although he does a quick check of the medical database on his PADD. Nothing conclusive there either, and Hugh turns his equipment off with a sigh.

_Maybe it’s sex pollen_, he thinks to himself and grins at the absurdity of confirming the classic Academy rumors.

Snuggling closer to Paul, he’s asleep in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued :D


	170. Sidestep, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously, the computer says it's not sex pollen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the previous chapter.

The first person Hugh suggests his theory to is Tracy, who promptly chokes on her coffee. When she's done coughing, he smiles apologetically.

"Sorry, Trace."

"Really, Hugh? That's-" she breaks off to actually swallow her coffee this time, "your theory? 'Paul's hornier than usual, do you think sex pollen is actually real?' What's your evidence?"

Well. It does sound only slightly more ridiculous out loud than it did in his head. They move over to the main display, fingers moving on automatic to check charts for the day.

"The last couple of days, he's been...jumping me."

"And that's different from normal how?"

Tracy is impervious to his side-eye.

"Twice two days ago. After dinner, sure, but in the morning? He's never that awake. I tried to talk to him about it last night."

"And?"

"He stuck his finger in-"

She cuts him off with a look.

"Okay, I get it. Your previously workaholic partner who, after the two of you slingshotted nine hundred years into the future together and only _then_ got back together, _and_ you've been having regular sex with, suddenly wants to screw you more often? You have got to be the only person I know who thinks that's something to complain about."

Her smirk softens the words, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

"I'm serious Trace. He's distracted me with sex before, but this feels different."

Picking up her PADD, Tracy taps in a few commands.

"All right. Say we're dealing with some exogenous factor or condition, what are the symptoms?"

"Increased libido, and slightly depressed prolactin levels post-climax. Minor dehydration, but I don't think that was related."

"And it's been what, two days?"

"Yeah."

"And you're not doing anything differently? Eating something weird, prior prolonged period of abstention...?"

"We've been having sex every other day, so no."

Trace snickers.

"Well, based on past experience with the two of you going at it like Risan marmots, is that actually less often than usual?"

Hugh is both relieved he has Tracy to talk to, and wishes he hadn't in terms of fodder for teasing.

"He's been making a point to not work late nights, so it's more than before because we're both at home awake, but not more than we would have if that hadn't been the case."

"I see."

"Anyone else mentioned similar symptoms?"

"You're the only one who tells me about their sex life in this kind of detail."

Tracy's tone says she's not actually bothered by it.

"Sorry."

"Well..." she frowns at the PADD before setting it down, "I do have one preliminary recommendation."

"What's that?"

"Get some more data points."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there's more :) I needed a break from the angst-fest I've been writing / we've been watching.


	171. Sidestep, Part Three

Three days - two blowjobs, one instance of shower frottage, a handjob interrupted by a comm from Tilly, folding Hugh nearly in half on the couch when they're trying to watch a holonovel, and waking up to Paul riding him the next morning - later, he still isn't any closer to an answer. Hugh's sure he hasn't been this well-fucked since the earlier days of their relationship when they were both in their thirties and came together (pun unintended) for a few days at a time filled with sex, snuggles, deep conversation, and declarations of love.

Any time he tries to address it, Paul either initiates sex or just smiles that sweet smile that makes Hugh's insides melt and makes a comment about his partner being irresistible. And while Hugh knows with a hundred percent surety that Paul would stop if Hugh says no, there's more than something to be said about a partner who knows his body so thoroughly that the physical part is easy and they're able to make love. 

Also, Paul _is_ ridiculously hot. But that's absolutely not a factor.

****

Tracy refuses to consider the issue again until he's had at least a week of data.

"Based on frequency that should be what, a dozen times? Fifteen, since you two have a couple of days off?" 

"Quit laughing, Trace, my balls are sore." 

"Drink more fluids - and not **that** kind."

"We're close to fifty, how are we both still this horny?"

"Because the two of you delight in making me aware of your sex life?"

"I hate you." 

"Do you want my help or not?" 

"Sorry."

"Keep track, and talk to me after that."

****

Rhys isn't any help either.

"Wait...Stamets wants to have sex more often and you're _worried_ about it?"

"Concerned," Hugh sets down his weights, "I'm concerned."

Stretching his shoulders before stepping onto the mat, Rhys pops his spine and shrugs expressively.

"Sorry Hugh. Not that I don't sympathize, but if I was getting laid that often I sure as hell wouldn't be in here this much."

They circle each other slowly, feinting and looking for openings to land a hit.

"So what do you think I should do about it?"

Hugh throws a punch, adjusting his balance as Rhys deflects.

"It's good sex, right?"

"Sex with Paul generally is. Yes."

They grapple for a few seconds before breaking apart.

"In that case, find out what's causing it..."

Rhys launches a high kick that Hugh barely dodges.

"And then wha- mmmphhhh."

The next kick to his stomach is pulled, but Hugh still lands flat on his back.

"-and figure out how to keep it happening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anthony and Wilson are both in their late 40's. I still have a hard time believing it.


	172. Sidestep, Part Four

"Fifteen years of dealing with the two of you, and I still can't believe I'm asking this," Tracy groans two weeks later. "But is the mode consistent?"

"What?"

Hugh flicks his analysis of the new osteogenic enhancer over to Tracy's screen. She nods a thank you, expanding it and running the proliferation and repair curves next to normal rates. They both frown as the areas beneath the curve start integrating, silent for a few minutes while the numbers scroll.

"...is there a pattern to the type of sexual activity he initiates related to the circumstances?"

"Well...a blowjob every time we’re in the shower together, humping my ass if I bend over near him, if that's what you mean?"

He's not sure if he'd call it a pattern versus practicality. Hugh's careful to keep his voice lower than the hum of equipment. Perretta is doing follow-up on a dislocated hip across the medbay (a nasty gymnastic accident that everyone on the staff cringed over), but otherwise they're alone. Discussing his sex life with Tracy is one thing, but he doesn't think Paul would appreciate anyone else hearing about it. 

"Thanks for the visual."

"Sorry."

Tracy splits out the results, sending half back to Hugh for simulations while she runs the others.

"Let me rephrase into two questions. Is it the things that are happening in terms of context are unusual, or is it just the overall frequency? And, frankly, is anything different about the act itself?" 

"Nothing’s out of context, I mean we’ve done it all before. He's been asking to receive maybe two thirds of the time when we’re doing that, but it’s not like he’s not being himself.”

”What’s the usual?”

The simulation beeps at him and he scrutinizes the results before altering the growth factor parameters and restarting.

”That might not be a good metric. It...depends on who’s in the mood. Went two months of just Paul on top once.”

”And that didn’t bother you then?”

”Well. It was right after we launched, I think it helped with a sense of control over something. He was being assertive, and that was hot.”

_Extremely_ hot.

”Hmmm. Does it have anything to do with the new body?"

"Huh?"

"Reset refractory period. Granted, that would only be yours."

"It wasn't bad before. Faster than Paul's, but I don't think we've- well, didn't ever have a chance to spend a whole day in bed, before I died. We’re not having a second round till hours later, so I don’t know that it’s a factor.”

She hums thoughtfully. They're interrupted then by an ensign's aching shoulder ("Repetitive stress injury, make sure you adjust your chair to the right working height!"), and don't pick up the conversation again until a couple of hours later.

"Remember telling me that he was showing definite symptoms of an acute anxiety response to Lorca?”

There’s a tickle at the back of his mind where she could be going with this, but he’s still half-focused on tweaking the sims.

"Yeah. We both were to a degree, but it didn’t affect things too badly when we had the time."

"Well, it was about fifty times worse while you were gone in terms of depression and social withdrawal as far as I could tell. He didn’t want to talk to me about it.”

_No, Tracy wouldn’t have been at the top of Paul’s list because of the reminder._

"...and it didn't get better until after we came here. Yes.”

A crew member comes in with a maintenance kit, heading for the Jefferies tube access over biobed three. Hugh waves her over to it, then steps into an empty exam room with Tracy to continue.

”He hasn’t been showing any physiological side effects from that though.”

_Emotional ones are another story_, but Hugh has his own feelings that he’s still wading through too.

Tracy leans on the wall, arms crossed.

"You two didn’t just jump back in bed together right away either.”

Hugh shakes his head.

"No, actually. We talked, and we cuddled for a few nights," he can't help smiling at the memories, "and then I slept over for a week until I moved back in. Paul just...held me."

She’s trying for a neutral expression, but he can see his own happiness reflected in the fondness shining in her eyes.

"So you've resumed being physically intimate what, two months since then?"

“Just about.”

“And you’re sure there’s no new symptoms?"

"Nothing overt."

They’re down to empirical hypotheses, which is both frustrating and a relief, mostly because there’s nothing in the updated database that fits the situation fully. It's not like Hugh could unobtrusively pull out the scanner every time they were post-coital (particularly after the mutual handjobs crammed into the dead end of a Jefferies tube off the cultivation bay). 

"All I can do is conjecture. Honestly, what you’re describing sounds...ideal, if you know what I mean. You’re still getting enough sleep, there doesn’t seem to be any emotional issues related to using sex as avoidance, and your partner is invested in making you feel good. He wants you, and there doesn’t have to be some sort of reason besides that.”

Her half-smile is one he's seen often over the years when it came to dealing with Hugh's relationships in general, and with Paul in particular.

”Are you saying I’m somehow extra hot right now?”

Hugh deflects the heat rising in his cheeks with a wry quip.

”Well, you’ve never been my type so I can’t answer that.”

Her delivery is dryer than Vulcan at noon, and he laughs.

”Hugh,” Tracy turns to face him, hand resting on his forearm, “I say this as your friend and a fellow physician: you really should ask him directly.”

”...yeah.”

They get back to work, and Tracy sends him off at the end of his shift with a “good luck”. Squaring his shoulders as if he were headed to something other than a probable orgasm, Hugh heads home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My humorous sexed-up Paul mystery was only supposed to be a two-parter when I dreamed it up. As with most things Culmets, it demanded more detail! The conclusion is next.


	173. Sidestep, Part Five (Conclusion)

“Sweetheart?”

Paul hums a distracted acknowledgement.

"Paul."

His use of his partner's name and a hand gently tugging his hair brings Paul up short halfway through the trail he's kissing down Hugh's torso, hips stilling where he’s been rubbing himself against the sheets.

"Hugh?"

His eyes are wide and blue, lips flushed a deep pink, and the urge to say _"never mind" _is almost impossible to resist. Instead, he carefully untangles his hand and curves it around Paul's jaw.

"We should talk about something."

A blank look, followed by his eyes flicking sideways that tells him the already-fast Stamets brain is running at 200% speed.

"Did I do something wrong? Did I forget- no..." Paul pushes up on his elbows and snatches his PADD off the nightstand, checking the stardate with a hint of panic, "your birthday isn't for three months, and it isn't our anniversary soon either-"

Hugh hooks two fingers over the top of the PADD and guides it down.

"Babe. No, nothing like that.”

Paul’s shoulders, bunched together tensely, relax as he props his chin on Hugh’s sternum.

”Okay.”

”Have you been feeling all right lately?”

”Yes?”

_Oh way to indirectly approach it. Just ask him._

“We’ve been having a lot of sex lately. I'm not complaining,” he hastens to add, “not at all. But I was wondering what prompted it.”

“Umm. I love you and you’re hot? Also your dick is a thing of beauty and it belongs inside me.”

The sincere response makes his lips curve into a smile.

“I meant, because you didn't used to wake up early enough to, well, blow me in the shower every morning. Promise I don’t object at all to it,” Hugh strokes Paul’s cheek with his thumb, "it just started kind of suddenly the last couple of weeks.”

His eyes narrow, clearly considering what Hugh just said. He can almost hear the gears turning.

“Oh. Hmm. About that, I...”

Paul trails off, chewing his lip, fingers gripping the sheet. 

_That won’t do._

Setting his heel on the mattress, Hugh tips them over onto their sides, rearranging until they're face to face on the pillow.

"Sweetheart, you don't think you..._have to_, for some reason, right?"

“Why would I...?”

Paul's frown of utter confusion allays Hugh's fears better than any words, and he happily banishes the barely-formed notion that Paul might be doing it as some sort of misguided guilt or atonement. They’d agreed years ago for sex to always be by mutual consensus, a “no” or “I’m not in the mood” respected without more than the occasional disappointment.

“Sorry love, I didn’t say that right. Like I said, it seemed sudden and I wanted to be sure there isn’t something I missed.”

”Not really? I- I like watching you come," Paul mutters, cheeks gone so flaming red that Hugh thinks he can feel the heat on his own skin, "and you just...smell _amazing_. A lot lately. You know what that does to me.”

He does indeed. 

“Okay,” he kisses Paul softly.

”You don’t mind, right?”

A trace of the old insecurity sneaks in, and Hugh can’t let that stand. 

“Not at all,” he rubs his half-hard erection on Paul's belly, enjoying the soft give over firm muscle, “you do this to me.”

”Mmm.”

”Keep going?”

Paul nods, licking his lips before stuffing his nose in the crook of Hugh’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. When he surfaces, his eyes have darkened with desire, and Hugh closes his own as they dive back into a kiss.

****

"He says I smell amazing."

"Well," Tracy arches an eyebrow over her coffee, "I wouldn't go _that_ far."

Hugh bats his eyelashes at her sarcastically.

"Could there be something affecting his olfactory receptors?"

"Could be. Or maybe it's you?"

"What, I've suddenly turned into a siren just for him?"

He’s only half joking. This is Discovery, after all.

"Pretty sure you've always been. No, I mean chemically,” Tracy sets down her mug and grabs her PADD to access the medical database, “as in, you know the science of attraction is also psychological, but we should rule out something physiological like pheromone overproduction."

"But if my pheromones are affected, wouldn't, I don't know, other people have noticed?"

”General consensus is that Doctor Culber smells nice already. So maybe not.”

His mouth can’t decide if it wants to smile or fall open in disbelief.

”Consensus? You’ve talked to other people about it?”

”I have my sources.”

”Oookay. Do I smell different to you?”

Tracy leans over and gives him an exaggerated sniff.

"You've showered today, and you have Paul's cologne on your collar. But my receptors are used to whatever they pick up from you already.”

”Paul should be even less affected if that’s the case.”

“Well. Have a seat,” she waves at a stool, “let’s see what this fancy thirty second century mass spec has to say. In the meantime...Pollard to Stamets."

_"Stamets here."_

Paul sounds politely puzzled.

"Report to the medbay at your earliest convenience."

_"...okay? Tilly, are you good- yeah? Umm, on my way."_

"Pollard out."

Tracy finishes programming the device, sets it running as Hugh withdraws a blood sample for analysis. He’s still waiting on results when Paul comes through the doors, pulling up short at the sight of him before hurrying over.

“Hugh? Is something wrong?”

They do their best to stay professional on duty within sight of others, but since it’s Tracy, Hugh doesn’t think twice about reaching for his partner’s hands.

”I’m fine. Remember what we talked about last night?”

Paul gives Tracy a side-eye as she flicks through her readings.

”Yeah?”

”You said I smell good.”

”I believe the term he used,” Tracy interjects, “was ‘amazing’.”

Paul leans on a console, brow furrowing.

”Hang on. This has to do with- err, sorry Tracy.”

”Used to it.”

”This has to do with you being worried about why we’re suddenly having a lot of sex?”

”Well,” Tracy looks up from the screen and Hugh internally cringes at her innocent smile, “he did initially ask my opinion on the likelihood that you were exposed to sex pollen.”

Given Paul’s wide eyes, Hugh briefly considers melting through the floor.

”I didn’t- it was just a thought,” he mutters.

”So, hop up.”

Paul’s confused look really shouldn’t be this cute.

”Just going to scan you,” Tracy nudges him towards a biobed, “see if there’s anything physiological to what Hugh’s been going on about.”

“All right. But...sex pollen? The Academy urban legend?”

”I was mostly joking.”

”Uh huh.”

Tracy’s enjoying this far too much.

”It’s also possible,” she adds, “that exposure to the spores or mycelial network has heightened your senses on a subtler level than we checked before, Paul.”

”I have a sense that tells me how sexy Hugh is?”

She pointedly ignores the question and Hugh pinches Paul’s side, receiving a wink that dispels the remaining awkwardness _and _promises payback later. They wait in silence for the data from all three scans to integrate. When it beeps, Tracy’s mouth forms a perfect O-shape.

”Trace?”

She holds up a staying hand, tapping a few controls before running the analysis again.

"Well.”

”What?”

He and Paul ask the question in unison, and Tracy smirks.

“Turns out you and Paul have _really_ good chemistry. As in, so chemically compatible I had to check the results because I thought it was an error."

She flicks the results over to holoproject between them, Paul leaning over his shoulder to see.

”Huh.”

”There’s also about a five percent increase in olfactory sensitivity.”

”I don’t smell anything differently,” Paul points out, “just Hugh.”

”My guess? The network attuned you somehow, to Hugh in particular. And since you’re focused on him, well...” Tracy shrugs, “you’re extra aware of his pheromones. I know I’ve always given the two of you a hard time about being so into each other, but there’s the science to prove it. ”

”Wait. So if we weren’t...”

”Hugh,” Tracy tilts her head to the side, considering, “even without this, I’m pretty sure you would still be just as disgustingly in love. This just makes your sex life enviable.”

”Enviable?”

”Don’t quote me on that, Stamets.”

Paul’s pout is even cuter than his confused face.

“Anyway, mystery solved, gentlemen?”

”Yeah. Thanks Trace.”

”Does this mean I don’t have to listen to you recount a tally of you two screwing each other’s brains out? And further reinforcing my decision to never use the shower in your quarters.”

“I thought you two talked about that already anyway.”

Hugh is _so_ in for it from Paul later. His partner doesn’t seem miffed at all, but Hugh can tell he’s plotting something. Before sending him back to Engineering though, he has one last question.

"So if the spores enhanced his sensitivity...does that sort of qualify them as sex pollen?”

Tracy’s facepalm and Paul’s laughter are worth every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it got a bit complicated with explanations at the end, but basically: Paul and Hugh are ridiculously pheromone-compatible, Paul’s sense of smell is heightened so the Hugh-smell in particular hits his brain more, and sexytimes ensue. 
> 
> In short - Culmets is scientifically justified in being hot for each other :D
> 
> I’m with Hugh. Totally sex pollen.


	174. Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****SPOILERS FOR “That Hope Is You, Part 2”****

Sometime between when they physically _carry_ him out of Starfleet HQ and onto the heavily-armed cruiser evacuating civilians, Paul goes completely numb. 

He stops fighting his escorts who nearly overbalance and topple over where they’re latched onto his arms. 

Stops trying to get someone, anyone to hear him. 

Stops responding verbally.

”Commander Stamets,” someone says, trying to get his attention, “Commander?”

Their voice filters through as if from underwater, distorted and easily ignored.

All he can see is Hugh.

Sees his beautiful skin covered in radiation burns.

Sees the spark in his eyes gone dim.

Sees him laid in his casket, so still and so cold, and half of Paul heart is buried with him.

Someone puts their hand on his shoulder and he shakes them off convulsively.

_Leave me alone._

He catches snippets, knows that Ni’var and the remaining fleet are pursuing Discovery.

Someone tries to get him to eat something, offers water that he refuses.

He hears something about being in shock, a blanket draped around him.

Adira won’t be bursting into their quarters at all hours whenever they have a brilliant idea.

Paul’s bed will be cold and lonely.

_There’s nothing left._

****

Paul is dimly aware of someone shaking his arm again, more insistently.

”Commander? We’ve had word from Discovery.”

He sits bolt upright, the blanket falling from his shoulders.

”What?”

”They’re on their way back. From the nebula.”

An iron fist squeezes around his heart.

”Did they...?”

“We don’t know. I’m sorry sir. But we’ll be back at HQ soon.”

He doesn’t dare to hope.

Hope is all he has.

****

Discovery is already there when his ship docks.

”Computer,” he rasps out, “location of Doctor Hugh Culber, USS Discovery?”

**“Doctor Hugh Culber is in briefing room beta-six.”**

Without a badge, he can’t transport, but he doesn’t care.

His escorts try to stay with him, but he outpaces them both, running hell-bent.

The briefing room doors barely open in time to prevent him colliding with them.

He hears a woman - Tilly? - say his name.

Everyone is a blur of dark blue uniforms, except for one in shining white.

”Sweetheart?”

He crosses the last twenty feet and pulls Hugh into his arms, uncaring of who is seeing him cry.

”You- you’re okay...Hugh...”

Hugh’s lips are soft and gentle and he’s laughing into the kiss.

”We’ve got this one to thank for that.”

Hugh lets go of his waist just long enough to reel someone else in.

”I- it...”

Words fail him, but their bodies shift, him and Hugh, making space for Adira between them.

Paul holds on with all of his strength.

_Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit choppy and disjointed, as I’m left feeling generally happy but a little unsatisfied with the finale. We deserved an extended Culmets reunion scene beyond the happy-in-sickbay, after all the writers put Paul through, so I fixed that. I may try it again tomorrow after I’ve gotten some sleep, but I needed to get this out now.
> 
> Jury is still out on the new uniforms. They don’t seem to be very well fitted.


	175. Sever, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains SPOILERS for the season three finale.
> 
> Paul and Hugh, reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as following the previous chapter, or on its own.

Paul’s joy in holding Hugh again is cut short not long after their reunion. Starfleet sequesters the bridge crew and away team for debriefing, and he’s left with only Hugh’s kiss on his cheek for the next few hours. Tracy sits with him for a little while, until his fidgeting drives them both to distraction. She says nothing, just stands and squeezes his shoulder before leaving, presumably to be sure the medbay really is in one piece.

He returns to their quarters, tidying the things strewn about during the battle and checking that the blown conduits hadn’t done any damage to their belongings. That only takes a half hour, and then it’s back to waiting. 

Paul sits on the foot of their bed, hands loosely clasped between his knees. The past day keeps replaying in his mind, no matter how he tries to push away the memories. He’s too exhausted - physically and emotionally - to deal with them right now. All he wants is to curl up with Hugh, stripped to the skin to feel his steady heartbeat against his own chest. 

Speaking of, Paul could probably use a shower. His uniform is wrinkled and smells of sweat, and he tosses it in the refresher on the way into the bathroom. The heat and water beating down on his back drive away any thoughts in his head at all, a welcome oblivion. He stays in the shower for a long time, water turned as hot as he can bear until his skin is flushed dark pink. Still no Hugh when he’s done, but he dresses in pajamas and turns down the bed to wait.

There’s no one else around to see him hugging Hugh’s pillow to his chest, breathing in his scent on it. He pulls the covers up around his shoulders, shivering despite the comfortable ambient temperature. Eventually, sleep claims him.

****

Hugh sees Adira back to their quarters, bidding them goodnight with a quick kiss on top of their head that they grumble about, but he can see their eyes lighting up and chuckles as he leaves. He’s tired and his feet ache, but he speeds up because he knows Paul is waiting for him to come home. 

_Home_.

He doesn’t comm ahead in case Paul’s actually resting, and is glad of it when he enters to find lowered lights and Paul asleep on Hugh’s side of the bed. A smile tugs at his tired lips as he kicks off his boots and unzips his jacket before bending over the bed to nuzzle at the messy blond hair at Paul’s temple. His partner doesn’t stir at all, and the smile dissolves when he sees how tightly he’s clutching Hugh’s pillow. 

Paul seems to have shrunken in on himself in the hours since he burst into the briefing room, a Stamets-shaped force of nature. He’d felt the storm of emotions in his embrace, knew from his tears how much he must have worried. There hadn’t been time to talk much, and he regrets that more now given the frown still creasing Paul’s brow.

It takes an effort of will to pull himself away, to undress and clean up. Much as he’d love a water shower - or better yet, a soak - he opts for a sonic to save time. While he brushes his teeth, he wonders if he ought to reserve time on one of Discovery’s new holosuites for the two of them with a trip to a spa or hot springs. It would be nice to lay out in the simulated sun without worrying over Paul burning, and he could even plan ahead for a picnic of sorts.

With those much more pleasant thoughts in mind, he pulls on pajamas and sits on the edge of the bed. Paul’s frown hasn’t diminished, and he tries to soothe it away with his thumb. He’s considering climbing in on Paul’s side instead of disturbing his love when he hears a quiet groan and Paul’s eyes flutter open.

”Hi,” Hugh smiles, palm curved along his cheek, “you’re on my side.”

Paul blinks at him for a moment, then mumbles an apology and rolls over to let Hugh in. He barely has time to get under the covers before Paul’s attached himself to Hugh’s side, a squirming octopus seeking affection. Fortunately, Hugh has that in excess and happily snuggles closer.

”Sorry it took so long.”

”Mmm.”

He pitches his voice softly, trying not to jar Paul out of his muzzy half-awake state. 

“A lot happened down there, and they wanted everything described in detail since we couldn’t use our tricorders.”

“Mmm?”

”Yeah. It was...the single most awesome, visually complex environment I’ve seen. I wish we could have seen it before it started to break down. And I could have done without the radiation sickness.”

Paul’s been sleepily lipping at the side of Hugh’s neck under his ear, but he freezes on the last two words. Hugh feels a rigid tension, and tries to calm it, stroking Paul’s hair and rubbing his back.

”I’m fine sweetheart.”

The drowsiness has vanished, Paul looking much more awake than he ought to right now. Hugh’s not sure what to do about it, but he does owe Paul an apology. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

”...what?”

Paul pushes up on an elbow, wincing as the move seems to strain his neck. 

“Shh, come here.”

He props himself up on the headboard, tugging Paul to rest his head on his lap while he digs his fingertips into the tense muscle. 

“Was it bad?” Paul’s voice is muffled in his thigh, “the radiation.”

”Well. We weren’t expecting the ship to start disintegrating as fast as it did, which didn’t help. But Adira brought enough meds to keep us going.”

Paul shivers against him.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t jump back for you...”

”It’s okay love. Had to get the ship safe, and it all turned out okay.”

”I should have tried harder. If Adira hadn’t-“ Paul breaks off, voice catching, “you- it...”

Suddenly, Paul is crowding him against the headboard, kissing Hugh with an almost desperate hunger. He’s taken off guard, but his body responds immediately while his brain is still catching up. Hugh kisses back, trying to communicate contrition and relief. Paul’s straddling his lap now, hips rocking as he angles his head to delve deeper. It’s a bit overwhelming, Paul must need it to burn away the stress, and he’s not about to deny either of them some physical comfort. He was going to offer cuddling, but that can wait for later.

_You really must have scared him. A few more minutes and you wouldn’t have made it out of there alive._

Hands paw at his shirt, and they break apart just long enough for both of their tops to land on the floor. Paul has both hands holding his head in place as the kiss grows hungrier, and the unexpected assertiveness flips a switch, arousal beginning to pool in his stomach. Moaning, he works a hand between them, flicking at the hard point of a nipple as he tries to match Paul’s desire. It’s easy to lose himself in it, the shift of skin on skin and Paul’s delicious noises of pleasu-

_Wait_.  
  
The whimpers that he thought were lust are starting to sound more like a wounded animal. He tries to ease back a little, to see if Paul’s even aware, but Paul clings to him fiercely.

"Babe- mmm...hold o- swee...ahhh, sweetheart. Mmm-“

Something hot splashes onto his cheek, and his eyes fly open in alarm.

Paul’s crying.

He shakes, eyes screwed shut, and the desperate edge to his kisses sinks in.

”-hold...time out. Paul.”

Their lips separate with a smack. Paul immediately tries to hide his face against Hugh’s neck, but he uses the hand on his chest to hold him off.

”Sweetheart,” he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, breathless, “what’s wrong?”

Paul shakes his head.

”N- nothing.”

”You’re crying.”

He thumbs moisture from Paul’s cheek, worry pinning his shoulders back.

”M’fine. Just...glad you’re okay.”

”Love, those don’t look like happy tears.”

Chin ducked, Paul won’t meet his eyes.

”Look at me, please. I’m right here, not going anywhere.”

The words seem to strike a chord. Paul’s face goes completely blank, blood draining out of it. He sways, and Hugh immediately wraps both arms around his waist.

”Whoa- hey, you’re okay. Love?”

”S- sor- fuhh...”

His partner is trying not to hyperventilate on his lap, and of all the unexpected things in the last twelve hours, this wasn’t even on his list. Shoving Hugh out of the way, Dr. Culber takes over.

”Paul. Need you to lay down.”

He rolls them, scrambling to keep his weight off Paul once he’s on top. Hugh tucks two fingers under his jaw, the racing pulse beating a frenzied tattoo. 

“Can you breathe for me? Slow...you can do it.”

A shuddering inhale, Paul shaking with the effort. Hugh shoulders the doctor in him aside again, worried partner overriding his professional concern. He fumbles for Paul’s hand, holding it flat to his own chest and exaggerating his own breathing as he does.

”Breathe with me? Just concentrate on that, good. Feel that? That’s right, slow it down.”

Eventually, the gasping turns into more regular respiration, the occasional shudder still passing through Paul’s body. Once he’s sure he’s calmed enough, Hugh gathers him back into his arms.

”Shhh, I’ve got you.”

_What the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.
> 
> So Hugh doesn’t know at first exactly what Paul’s been through, because he was locked in a debrief and before that on the trip back, was too preoccupied with treating everyone’s radiation burns to ask. Ergo why he’s a bit less sensitive at first, not realizing what kind of special hell Paul faced.


	176. Sever, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Hugh's reunion, continued.

Paul's not sure how long Hugh holds him like that, curled on their sides with legs entwined and arms around each other so tightly that every breath presses their chests together. He's murmuring soft noises of comfort, Paul's head tucked beneath his chin, hand making soothing circles on the bare skin of his back. For his part, he's latched onto Hugh's waist as if he expects him to be ripped away at any moment if he loosens his grip. Burying his nose in the warm valley between his pectoral muscles, he snuffles against Hugh's sternum and slowly feels his heart slowing its breakneck pace, surrounded by Hugh's touch and scent and the sound of his voice.

Eventually, his face is eased out of its hiding place. Hugh starts to pull away and he reaches out blindly, irrational panic warring with exhaustion.

"Shhh, I'm just going to get some water love. I'll be right back, okay?"

Mollified, he nods once, opening tear-swollen eyes to see Hugh crossing to the new replicator and coming back less than ten seconds later with a glass of water. 

"Can you sit up for me?"

Part of Paul is annoyed at being spoken to like a child, but he recognizes it as Dr. Culber's gentle bedside manner and nods again. Hugh eases him off the pillows, piling them at the headboard and sliding back under the covers to lean on them. He holds out his arm and Paul immediately accepts its shelter along with the water, drinking slowly. His nose is plugged up, and he's sure his face is a reddened mess, but only concern fills Hugh's eyes once he finishes and hands the empty glass back.

"...m'sorry."

Sighing, Hugh tugs him until he's in his lap again, pulling the covers up over Paul's shoulders as he does. It's comforting, but it also means he can't look down to avoid his eyes.

"No, don't be sorry, sweetheart. _I'm_ sorry for scaring you like that," he murmurs, "and I don't blame you if you're upset with me, I should have given Michael a proper message, everything was so chaotic that I didn't realize until after what it must have sounded like."

He's not sure what Hugh's talking about, and he's fairly certain it isn't just his foggy brain.

"What what sounded like?"

"My- wait. She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Beneath him, Hugh inhales sharply.

"When I said I was staying. I told her to tell you that I love you."

Paul laughs, tainted with tears and surprising himself with the amount of bitterness in it.

"Must have been after she knocked me out and before she stuck me in a restraining field and blew me out of Discovery?"

Hugh's jaw drops and his fingers dig into Paul's hips. 

**"WHAT?"**

"Did you really think I would have agreed to...to leave without you?"

From anyone else, Paul would be perturbed by the assumption, but he knows Hugh doesn't mean it like that. The pain from his grip transforms into a fierce sort of possessiveness in Paul's mind, and he doesn't care if there are bruises later. Doesn't mind being marked as Hugh's, his partner alive and well to do so. 

"Of course not. But I thought...she said you'd been put under some sort of neural control, and she made sure you were safe to keep Osyraa from using the spore drive, sent you to HQ until Osyraa was dealt with before coming back."

_Well, isn't that a nice version of it._

"That's one way to put it."

"Paul?"

Hugh looks even more alarmed by his sharp tone.

"We argued in Engineering. She expected me to just abandon you, and Adira, as if she didn't know _exactly_ how I felt after losing you once." 

His hands slip down from Hugh's shoulders to rest on his chest, feeling it rise and fall and his heartbeat through his palms. 

_Safe. He's safe._

"It kept Osyraa from hurting you."

"Like I give a- Didn't care that you two are my whole life, everything...she knocked me out and I woke up stuffed into an emergency field. Hugh, she fucking _wouldn't even look at me_. All she could say was 'I know', as if all of that damn guilt she loves to carry made up for her _forcing_ people to do it her way. So no, she didn't bravely rescue poor unconscious Paul Stamets."

Hugh swallows, staring at him with an unreadable look on his face, dark amber eyes wide and disbelieving. He finally loosens his fingers, but he doesn't let go.

"She didn't tell you that part, did she?"

"I...we didn't have a chance to talk a lot once we beamed back up. I fixed her up and I had to get the four of us treated, and half the equipment in the medbay was offline. Su'kal was hiding in the corner and Adira was a mess because of Gray, and I- I didn't even get to see her again until I went to the bridge when we were coming into HQ."

"You-"

_Wait._

Paul replays what Hugh just said, concern overriding anger temporarily. Adira had seemed fine, so...

"Did something happen to Gray?"

As ever, Hugh doesn't question him changing the subject.

"He...the holo program, it manifested him with a physical body. We could see him and talk to him and touch him, and he was so scared of losing that when Su'kal shut the program off."

"But he's still with Adira, right? After you beamed back up."

"They said so, yeah. It's a lot to deal with."

He can't imagine the pain of that. The thought of being unseen or heard or touched is horrible, but if, like Gray and Adira, Hugh could still see him? It's selfish, but Paul doesn't honestly think it would be that bad.

Hugh's the only one who's ever truly seen him.

"Sweetheart..."

Distress is clear on Hugh's face and in his voice, but Paul needs to finish. Needs to say it to someone.

"It all turned out okay in the end, and yay, Michael the hero. And Admiral Vance agrees, so Starfleet is probably going to give her a medal. And fine, sure. But what would have happened if they hadn't re-taken Discovery?"

"Paul-"

"I'm not happy with Michael right now and that's a fuck-ton more than I'm upset with you for deciding to stay on the planet. What if Owo hadn't blown the nacelle, and Tilly and Rhys and everyone else suffocated? What if Booker hadn't been able to talk to my spores and jump? You would have all died. Horribly. Slowly. She was gambling with lives, _your _life, Adira's, Saru's...so no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued, conclusion in part three.
> 
> As I continue to say, I'm not a Michael hater. I am, however, invested in Paul's feelings, and after what happened in "There Is A Tide", I can't accept that he and Michael are suddenly copacetic again because she managed to save Hugh. This is his perspective, and we'll see what Hugh has to say in the next chapter.


	177. Sever, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise I'll be getting back to one-shots and shorts! I've been in a serialized writing mood lately. I currently have five multi-chapter stories going all at once, which seemed like a good idea. Oops?

Adira does their best to relax once they're back in their quarters, chest still full of warmth. Gray's wandered off to do whatever it is he does when he's not manifesting (they haven't agreed on the proper verb for it), giving Adira a chaste goodnight kiss that still couldn't have been more different than the paternal one they received from Hugh. Hugh's goodnight tugs at a very, very old memory from...Kasha? _Yes, definitely Kasha_. It's a memory of her parents carrying her to bed when she'd fallen asleep in the music room, Kasha's father tucking her in and lightly kissing her forehead. The memory fades, but Adira still smiles even as they brush their teeth and climb into bed.

Lying awake and staring out the viewport at the other Starfleet ships surrounding HQ, they think about the past day. It's all too easy to envision what would have happened if they hadn't gotten Reno to give them her badge. Without radiation meds, Hugh and Saru would have died in agony, just like the holo of poor Doctor Issa. Chillingly, they realize that if Discovery hadn't come back before the Khi'eth collapsed, there might not even be bodies left to bury. Saving Hugh (and Saru) wasn't something they thought they were going to have to do, and they're glad they had the courage to do it. Seeing Paul and Hugh's quiet but emotional farewell made Adira's chest tight and Tal shift inside of them in a wave of remembered separations, and they knew then that they couldn't let them be torn apart. Sure, as Gray pointed out, it's for Adira's benefit as well as Paul's, but there are some things that felt _right_, and them being together is one of them. 

When Paul came hurtling into the briefing room, Gray had automatically stepped out of the way for him to throw himself at Hugh. And it had definitely been _throwing_ in all senses of the word. Hugh's solidly built, but he'd rocked with the force of impact. Standing behind them, Adira had seen the way Paul's knuckles turned white, how his arms shook with tension. On the way back to HQ, Hugh had voiced a certain amount of trepidation with regards to what Paul was going to think of him staying on the planet _("He's probably not going to be too happy with me, Adira.")_, yet Paul's reaction suggested something deeper than that. At least, they think it does.

_Love is...complicated._

They should know. It's been Adira and Gray together out of an entire universe for so long, expanding that very exclusive circle of two into three (four) is still something they're getting used to. They'd known that Hugh and Paul would like Gray, but the moment when Hugh turned to Adira and finally understood what they saw in Gray's kind eyes was...validation. And while they're positive that Gray isn't just a mental projection as a result of grief, letting him be seen by others? That's not something they're sure how to recreate. Hugh promised they'd find a way together, somehow, and Adira has to believe that.

_Maybe they'll be interested in talking about it now?_

They check the chrono - 2200 ship's time isn't even all that late - and decide that if they can't sleep, they'd rather do it in the company of two people who'll listen to them. Adira doesn't remember their parents, but hopes that maybe they were like Paul and Hugh, kind and caring and understanding. Hugh had said Paul might be asleep already, so they don't comm, just get dressed and head out the door. For a moment, they wonder if they should leave Gray a note, because if he gets back and they're not there, he might not know where to find them-

_Yep, not going to be a problem when he's, like, attached to me._

They definitely need to clear their head. The walk helps a bit, and in what seems like no time they're inputting the access code to Paul and Hugh's quarters (Hugh had made sure they had it, because he laughingly worried that the system might eventually 'get tired' over their hacking in and overriding the lock). The doors swish shut behind them, and they come to a halt three steps in. 

"-fucked up, Paul."

Neither of them is asleep. Instead, Hugh's sitting on the bed with Paul in his lap, the covers pulled up around their bare shoulders and shirts on the floor. For a moment, Adira wonders if they've wandered in in the middle of something they definitely do not want to see (or think about) and briefly considers tapping their badge to make an exit. Tilly's impressed upon them the likelihood of finding Paul and Hugh otherwise engaged, but they've so far been able to avoid any awkward moments besides the occasional kiss that makes them roll their eyes. Thankfully, it's clearly not the case as they both turn towards the door, because despite their position, Paul's face is pink and his eyes puffy with evidence of recent crying. 

Adira should know what that looks like. They've done enough of it.

"Umm."

The complex mix of emotions on Paul's face clears, leaving just concern.

"Adira? Is everything okay?"

"Fine! Sorry, I didn't know you two were-" they gesture vaguely at the bed, "doing...something."

"I thought you were going to sleep?"

Hugh taps Paul on the arm, and he climbs off his lap to let him retrieve their shirts. Adira's relieved to see them both wearing pants.

"I'll go-"

"No, stay," Paul's voice is muffled by fabric for a moment, "what do you need?"

"Are you okay?" they blurt out, even though it's probably more polite to pretend they didn't see anything (Adira's never been great with the whole social etiquette thing).

"I'm- it's not something you should worry about. I'm fine."

Adira lets their dubious expression respond with silence until Paul continues.

"I'm just relieved you're both okay. I need to talk to Hugh about a few things, but it's nothing that can't wait."

His voice seems a bit raspy, and Hugh sighs.

"Adira, do you mind getting some water for him? And whatever you want."

They nod and head over to the replicator, hearing a quiet murmur behind them. No matter how badly they want to turn around and look, they manage to resist the urge and stare at the replicator until a glass of water and mug of hot chocolate whir into existence. 

Paul starts to wave them at the nightstand, but pauses at a significant look from Hugh _(significant, but what does it mean?) _and instead holds out his hand to accept the glass with a nod. Left standing awkwardly at the side of the bed, they don't realize that they've been fidgeting until Hugh pats the duvet in the middle of the bed and they stop twisting their fingers together. The mattress feels bouncier than theirs as they climb on and settle cross-legged facing the headboard, hands wrapped around the warm mug. By now, Paul's scrubbed his hand across his face a few times, and he looks a little less distraught as he sits beside Hugh.

"Is Gray here now," Hugh asks them gently, glancing around as if Gray might suddenly appear, "with us?"

"No. But he said he'd be back," Adira laughs nervously, "so he's off doing something. I guess. I'm not really sure where he goes when he's not with me. I mean he's with me, but not _with_ me."

Neither of them give Adira a look of confusion or frustration at the vague response, instead wearing matching expressions of compassion. 

"Did something happen with Gray?" 

"Not...exactly? I just, Hugh maybe told you, about Gray? Being like _real_ real, in the holoprogram on the ship. And...yeah. I don't think- I don't know what he's feeling right now."

"I haven't had a chance to tell him all of it yet, Adira," Hugh sighs, "why don't you go ahead now?"

"Umm. Sure. So after Reno gave me her commbadge-"

"Hang on. _Reno_ is part of all of this?"

Paul finishes the water and sets the glass aside, making an encouraging gesture before folding his hands in his lap expectantly.

"I- when they were making you go back into the cube, I knew...I'd talked to Gray about it. And it seemed like it would work, so I got Reno to give me her badge and transported to Book's ship and when he got to the planet, I took some radiation pills and beamed down."

"But if the holoenvironment masked everything," Paul frowns, "how did you keep them from...un-manifesting them? The pills."

"I hid them. In my mouth. In a container! Not like _in_ my mouth."

"Got it."

"I beamed down into this forest thing? And it made my clothes look all different, and turned me into a Xahean. So it took a little while to find Hugh, and when I did, that's when Gray showed up. It made him a Vulcan, and that's when Hugh said he could see him."

"It recognized his existence, somehow," Hugh shifts forward to sit closer to Adira, "and made him a body. He was tangible. I wish I'd scanned him, but by the time the program turned off, things got a little chaotic. I promised we'd try to find a way for him to be seen again, not just by Adira."

Paul goes very still, staring off into the space over Adira's shoulder. They're used to that look in Engineering, but seeing it with Paul in his pajamas is just weird, so they cover the awkwardness by chugging half of their chocolate in one go. Hugh smiles reassuringly at them, eyes softening as he takes in Paul's posture. 

_They're really something._

At last, Paul shakes his head a little and blinks slowly.

"Well. It's a metaphysical question and a practical one. Which one do you want to tackle first?"

"I-" Adira's interrupted by a giant yawn, "which one do you think?"

"I think," Hugh interjects, "you should get some sleep and we can talk about it over breakfast once we've all had a chance to rest."

"No, I'm fuhhiihhh- fine."

"Why don't you just take a nap on the couch then? Half an hour," Paul smiles, "and if that's enough, we can keep talking."

Hugh's already rescuing the almost-empty mug from Adira's fingers before it spills onto the duvet. They're about to protest, but exhaustion seems like it's catching up, and Adira nods in defeat.

"Okay."

There's a throw folded over the arm of the couch, and they wrap themselves in it before settling down. Watching Hugh and Paul from under the blanket, they're not sure but they think their smiles are...different somehow. The two on the bed are trying to keep their voices low, but Adira can pick up snippets - something about Michael - and wonders again what they interrupted. Paul doesn't sound happy, something about his tone sharp and brittle, and Hugh's response seems less comforting or conciliatory than urgent. 

It gets harder to hear when Paul and Hugh pull the covers up. They're not sure why Paul and Hugh would be unhappy with Michael, but whatever it is that made Paul cry, it can't be good. The conversation continues, and Adira tries to stay awake _(it's not eavesdropping if people know you're there, right?)_ but it seems like a lost cause. Sighing, they let their heavy eyelids close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Adira part kept getting longer and longer, and I couldn't bear to cut it. Hoping it doesn't break up the flow of things too much - consider it a bonus chapter? Conclusion next.


	178. Sever, Part Four (Conclusion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the finale.

"Captain," Hugh smiles pleasantly, "we need to talk."

The ready room is empty save for them, Michael pausing the simulation floating in the air in front of her.

"Of course...?"

She indicates a chair, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he paces towards the viewport and waits for her to join him as he stares out at the stars.

"Such an amazing future we've been brought to."

"It is."

He can see her half-smile reflected in the glass, the blinking lights of the simulation painting both of their skin in shades of glowing blue.

"We came here because of you. We followed you, back to Starfleet and the Federation."

Her smile fades, turning to look at him.

"Hugh?"

Hugh continues looking ahead, keeps his expression calm.

"Paul told me. What you did."

A sharp inhale. Then-

"...I had to get him off the ship. Osyraa-"

"Part of command is perspective on the greater good," he continues mildly, "preserving the most lives and ensuring that the Federation remains intact."

Michael nods slowly, frowning.

"I wish it hadn't come to that."

There's genuine pain reflected on her face, and he doesn't doubt that the decision was a hard one to make. But it could have been made easier.

"You made the right decision."

She freezes, surprise plain in her dropped jaw. He waits for it to pass, watches her blink as it settles in.

"Thank you, Hugh."

Hugh turns his back on the viewport.

"It's one of the things about command that I've always known I wouldn't be able to do, to choose. My oath as a physician grants that every life is precious, so I'm glad you were here to make that call Of course you had to get Paul off the ship, and if it meant my death or Saru's against the whole of the Federation? I wouldn't expect you to choose us first. And you picked the best way to have him retrieved safely."

Some of the tension drains out of her, and part of him thinks what he's about to say next is unwarranted. He carefully focuses on that part of him, and tells it to shut the hell up for a few minutes.

"See, you made the right decision, but you fucked up carrying it out."

Michael physically rocks backwards at his words. 

"What-"

He keeps his voice at a conversational volume, even as his tone changes.

"You knew exactly how he felt after I died, Michael. You're supposed to care about him."

"Of course I care. But I couldn't-"

"You _broke him_, Michael. Did you consider that it would have been a lot easier to have Paul follow you to the airlock and willingly step into that emergency field, instead of knocking him unconscious without his consent and dragging him halfway across the ship?"

She's shaking her head adamantly.

"He wouldn't listen."

_Of course he wouldn't have._

Hugh can picture every painful moment.

"Did you tell him that staying was my choice and I _knew_ what it meant?"

"There wasn't time."

"Really," there's enough biting disbelief that he surprises even himself, "because you had time to tell him that Adira was with us." 

"He'd just brought them up."

"You could have told him while you were phasering off the restraints. Could have told him you understood exactly what the cost was and that it was hurting you to make it. Instead, you let him think that you'd abandoned Saru and Adira and I without a second thought, knowing it would make him desperate to do anything to save us. To save me."

Michael's blinking rapidly, and he can see her internal conviction struggling with defensiveness. 

"Hugh...I didn't want to. You have to understand. It was the only way."

"I understand. That doesn't mean it's okay. Command is about making those hard calls even when it's your friends that suffer. But you know what else it is, from every good captain I've met? It's also about having a heart. It's about understanding exactly what the consequences of your actions are, not just for you and the ideal of the Federation, but the lives of everyone placed in your charge. And it's about choosing a path that does the least harm."

"I didn't have another choice. We were running out of time, I barely got him off the ship."

"You didn't have to make a different choice. But you didn't have to do it that way either. Did you even bother to tell him that I loved him?"

She looks stricken, and he has to fight the urge to back down.

"I- it wouldn't have made a difference."

_She needs to hear this._

"Couldn't you have given him that little piece of comfort instead of making it only about the bigger picture? How telling him you were saving the Federation wouldn't matter nearly as much as the thought that you were willing to let the people he loves die?" 

All she can do is shake her head, and Hugh knows he needs to give her time to think. There's just one more thing he has to say.

"I want you to succeed as a captain. And there are going to be times you'll have to make terrible decisions that I can't pretend to understand. But you need to remember that there is always time for a moment of compassion, of empathy instead of sympathy. You need the crew to respect you. I'm your friend Michael, and there's going to be times that my life will be in your hands again. And I'll trust you with it, because you're the Captain. But I'm not going to forget what you did to Paul. And I don't think he's going to trust you again for a long time. Maybe ever." 

He leaves her standing there in silence, and goes home to Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course as Michael's friend, Hugh is going to be happy for her attaining the captaincy (since he's smiling when she walks onto the bridge), but there's part of him that's absolutely furious with her. It's never, ever a good idea to find out where the limits are on kind, gentle people.


	179. Sour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Season Three, and after the events of "Sever" in the previous four chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title on the list of S-words suggested by the lovely LadyRiona :)

Hugh's working on charting when the doors to the medbay open, looking up with a smile.

"Hi Tilly."

"Hi Doctor Culber. Is Doctor Pollard here?"

He glances around the bay, but it's just him for the moment, Zarrin and Aisha busy in one of the private exam suites.

"She's off today. Do you need her?"

Tilly looks strangely relieved, although she's shifting her weight nervously back and forth between her feet. It's something he recognizes from her cadet days, but it hasn't been much in evidence in a while.

"Uhh, no. Actually, I came here to talk to you."

"To me?"

"Yeah. Could we-" her eyes dart around the empty bay, "maybe talk somewhere private?"

Frowning, he stands and gestures her over to the desk and erects a privacy screen.

"Is everything okay?"

She fidgets, chewing her lip.

"Oh, I'm fine. This isn't about me."

"No?"

"It's about Stamets."

Hugh's focus sharpens immediately, heart skipping a beat.

"Did something-"

Tilly shakes her head, waving a hand between them.

"No, no, he's fine. I think. But I saw something weird and I needed to talk to someone, and I couldn't exactly talk to him, because, well...yeah."

He sits on the edge of the desk, trying to project calm receptiveness.

"Go ahead."

"So, Stamets and Adira and I were working on some of the new power flows. And Michael came down because we were getting lunch, and it's good for a captain to be seen around the ship, right?"

Nodding, Hugh thinks he knows where this is going, but just gestures for her to keep talking.

"Anyway. She came in and said hi, and when she was talking, you know that frown he has when he's really frustrated? Yeah. He had that, but it wasn't that exactly. I don't know. Then when we were leaving, I realized I left my PADD. I went back for it, and Stamets was just...looking at her with this face like he'd eaten something really sour. So uhh, I wanted to ask, is he mad at Michael for some reason?"

_Oh Tilly, you don't know the half of it._

"No, he's not mad. It's...complicated."

"What do you mean, complicated?"

Hugh closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Let's just say that it has to do with how Michael got him off the ship when Osyraa hijacked it."

"...okay."

Tilly's expression is skeptical, and he doesn't blame her.

"It's something they're going to have to work out," he sighs, "I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle."

"Oh. No, it wasn't like that, I don't think? I just- I mean, he seemed so...off. And I was worried."

He gives her a tired smile.

"Me too. But that's not something any of the rest of us can help with."

"Not even you?"

"I've done my part," Hugh shakes his head, "the rest is really up to Michael."

Tilly stares at him for a few breaths before nodding slowly. 

"Okay. I get it? I don't, but I do. I need to get back to Engineering, but...thank you, Hugh."

Patting her shoulder, Hugh drops the privacy screen and sees her off with a wave.

_Sour. _

_That would be an understatement._


	180. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst.

Not for the first time this week, Hugh wakes up to the feeling of Paul’s arms around him and his tears hot on his neck. He’s trying to stay quiet and still, but the way his body is shaking means the mattress is practically vibrating. 

Also not for the first time this week, Paul inhales sharply as soon as he stirs and cuts off the whimpers by pressing his face into Hugh’s shoulder. He’s halfway between sprawled out on his stomach and curled on his side, Paul practically blanketing his torso. Even his knees are locked tight around Hugh’s thigh, hard enough that it’s probably going to be sore in the morning. 

“Sweetheart.”

It’s not a question, just an acknowledgement that he’s awake. 

Paul loosens his limbs enough that Hugh can roll over to face him, shedding his pajama top. He doesn’t need to turn on the lights to know that his love is red in the face, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. Instead, he simply pulls Paul back against his chest and holds on as tightly as he can.

There’s nothing to be said, just Hugh’s soft murmurs of comfort and his kisses on Paul’s temple. Paul’s cheek is hot on his bare skin as Hugh lets him cry himself out until the sobs quiet into shivers.

He frees a hand to reach for the glass of water he’d left on his nightstand, sitting up for Paul to drink it without ever letting go. When he’s finished, Hugh shifts to lay on his back, Paul curling against his side and head pillowed on Hugh’s shoulder. Sighing, he straightens the covers, tugging the duvet up to their chins. 

”...s- sorry.”

Paul’s voice is so small, and Hugh’s heart breaks for him.

”Shhh. It was just a horrible dream. I’m here and I promise I will never leave you again.”

”C- can’t promise.”

It’s true, much as he hates it, but he knows Paul understands.

”Can you go back to sleep? Or do you want me to turn on the lights.”

Hugh’s on alpha in four hours, but he’ll stay awake as long as Paul needs him. 

A negative head shake.

”Sleep.”

”Okay.”

He tilts Paul’s chin up for a gentle kiss, then begins running his fingers through sweaty blond hair, smoothing it down. Eventually, Paul’s breathing evens out in sleep.

Not for the first time this week, Hugh stares up towards the ceiling in the dark and wonders how long Paul will have to pay the price for Michael Burnham’s actions.

In the morning, he’ll send a message to Aisha asking her if she’ll trade shifts so he can stay in bed with Paul until he wakes up from his exhausted sleep. They won’t talk about it in the artificial light of day, but he’ll make sure that Paul eats something and that Lieutenant Commander Stamets is ready to go on duty before he kisses him goodbye and heads to the medbay.

For now, he wipes away the last of Paul’s tears and closes his eyes. 

_Too long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t get this out of my head, so here I am at 1 am writing. 
> 
> Oh, Paul.


	181. Scalpel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season One - Paul gets his augments installed.

They've already been intimate on so many levels, but watching Hugh’s head bowed over the exposed wiring of his augment with tender attention is new. 

He's sitting on a biobed in a private exam suite, arm propped on a cart with Hugh perched on a stool on the other side. Hugh's using both hands to work, and he's enjoying the rare opportunity to really watch his partner show off the delicate surgical skills normally consigned to repair of injuries. His face is relaxed save for a slight frown, breathing so even and regular that Paul wonders if it's something he was taught in medical school or developed from time spent learning Vulcan meditation. Interestingly, although there's a three-dimensional holo of the blood vessels, nerves, and ligaments floating in the air between them, Hugh keeps his eyes firmly on Paul's arm as he manipulates the augment into place tucked against his brachioradialis muscle. 

Seeing Hugh use a laser scalpel to open his forearm hadn't been Paul's favorite part, particularly when he couldn't feel anything. Paul's arm has a neural block on it so everything below his elbow is numb, although he can still move his hand (which is both creepy and really fascinating) to make sure that everything is still working properly. Hugh had offered to opaque the sterile field on Paul's side, but he's managed to get a handle on the unexpected squeamishness by focusing on Hugh grafting individual connections into place. They'd agreed that the ports shouldn't be mechanically activated to avoid accidentally triggering them in the course of a normal day, but it's going to take some time to retrain his brain to recognize the sense of "other" in order to have conscious control.

Hugh switches tools, this time reaching for a regen to coax Paul's skin to seal itself over most of the augment. It looks unnaturally rigid as Hugh carefully palpates the new skin, but the outer casing snapped into place a moment later conceals the attachment point and protects the sensitive technology. They're going to have to keep an eye on the site to be sure that his body won't reject the implant; despite its biocompatibility, there's no guarantee that his immune system might not decide it doesn't like the intruder. 

Gloved fingers slide down to his wrist in a way that, despite the numbness, feels a little less clinical than the other touches have been. 

"Wiggle your fingers for me?"

Paul does, although without sensory feedback it's the weirdest thing he's ever seen to see a part of his body functioning without apparent connection.

"Good. I'm going to leave the neural block in place, it'll wear off over the next hour. That'll give your body time to acclimate."

"Can I have my PADD?" he nods at the item sitting just out of reach on another cart.

"No. You can practice getting them to activate, but I don't want you moving too much until the block is gone."

"Lorca won't-"

Hugh's lips press together, grip tightening perceptibly as his fingers dent the skin even though Paul can't feel it.

"I don't give a damn what he wants. You're my patient, and I want to keep you for observation until I'm satisfied that the integration is complete." 

They're both technically still on duty, but they're also alone and the door is closed for privacy, so he doesn't think twice about leaning forward until he can rest their foreheads together.

"I know I'm being an ass to you, and you still..." he uses the fingers of his left hand to gesture at his right forearm until Hugh catches his other wrist to hold it still, "made these for me."

"We both know you wouldn't, given a choice. Well, I hope you wouldn't."

He's always been a bit of a workaholic, but the war has taken it to a whole new extreme. 

"Not on purpose. Can you-" Paul clears his throat, voice quiet, "could you stay? Just for a little while longer."

Nodding, Hugh comes around to sit beside him on the biobed, thighs touching. Paul sags sideways, stealing a few precious moments to lean on his partner and let Hugh's strength hold him up. 

_He's been doing that a lot lately._

"Thank you."

A kiss on his temple.

"You're welcome. You know I can't stand seeing you get hurt."

That's an understatement if ever there was one.

Hugh's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders, and Paul closes his eyes, inhaling the smell of medical disinfectant and _Hugh_ before exhaling slowly. 

"Rest for a little while, love."

For once, Paul does as he's told.


	182. Stuffed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as a companion piece to the sex pollen mystery in Chapters 169-173 (“Sidestep”) or independently.

Paul can’t stop touching Hugh now that he has permission again. He’s well aware of the desire, the _need_ to be close to him, to feel him solid and real under his hands and against his body and inside his mouth. Even still, he surprises himself with how often he finds himself making contact simply because he can.

Nudging their shoulders together when standing at the bathroom sink brushing their teeth.

Their knuckles grazing each other as they walk down the corridor together.

Coming up behind Hugh and wrapping his arms around his waist while he’s waiting at the synthesizer for a cup of coffee.

Fingers resting high on Hugh’s inner thigh while they’re sitting beside each other during lunch with Tilly.

Waking up earlier just to share a shower, washing each other with sleepy smiles.

Solving the problem of a crowded couch on Game Night by inviting Hugh to sit on his lap instead.

All of these and more, but he notices most of all when they’re tucked in bed together getting ready to sleep. There’s no longer times when they retire to their respective sides of the bed after a goodnight kiss, handholding not enough. They’ve always enjoyed snuggling, but there’s more to it when Paul forgoes pajamas altogether every night so that there’s no barriers between their skin, when he can’t even fall asleep at all now with clothes on.

Paul wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s somehow even more turned on by Hugh’s scent and taste, affection becoming arousal and lust on a daily basis. Before - before Hugh’s death and resurrection and their reckoning with who they both are - they both had respectable libidos and a satisfying sex life. Now, it just takes Hugh’s eyes crinkling in laughter or his chest flexing when he reaches for his PADD for Paul to suddenly feel the all-consuming need to be _together_. He can’t get enough of Hugh, gorges himself on his presence and his touch and the pleasures of his body. 

Opening his eyes in the morning with the desire to suck Hugh off even before his brain makes him aware of things like hunger or thirst.

Pressing Hugh up against the condenser unit in the cultivation bay and devouring his mouth.

Eye fucking in the turbolift behind Tracy’s back until she turns around and gives them an epic eyeroll.

Needing to cut lunch short to drag him into a supply closet and shove his hand down Hugh’s pants.

Thinking ahead and hiding a bottle of lube under the couch cushions so that he doesn’t have to cross the room to get it when he feels the urge to impale himself on Hugh’s cock in the middle of reading reports.

Synthesizing a half dozen new toys and trying them out on him, cataloguing every gasp and moan to determine which one gets his partner off the hardest.

He knows Hugh notices, responds to his teasing comments about sex pollen with a grin. It’s not something he can really explain, not in any rational way, and he’s just glad that Hugh accepts it without judgment or complaint when love spills over into desire, into bridging the physical distance to bring their bodies as close as their hearts. Their lovemaking is playful and joyful and they’re both so present in each moment. 

Paul can’t stop loving Hugh now that he has permission again. Hugh is the air Paul needed to remember how to breathe, how to be alive. There’s not a moment to waste.


	183. Silly

They’re watching an action-filled holonovel that’s extremely popular amongst the crew at present, Paul slouched on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and Hugh’s head pillowed on his thigh. Hugh’s been sneaking glances up at Paul every now and then just to watch his partner’s reactions, his expressions far more entertaining than the cliched plot and stilted dialogue _(“It’s supposed to be a little silly, it’s entertainment babe.” “It’s **trashy**, Hugh.”)_. The campiness is a huge selling point as far as he’s concerned, a holo that doesn’t take the material seriously and invites the audience to laugh along at just how bad the genre can be.

”Is this over yet?”

”Shhh.”

The hero has just escaped an ambush by an alien species of indeterminate origin, ripping most of their clothing in the process as they scramble to safety with nothing but a strategically placed phaser rifle to conceal what’s bouncing as they run. Paul groans and Hugh smirks, bringing a hand up under Paul’s knee to scratch his pajama-clad thigh. Another explosion, the hero and their companion leaping for cover with exaggerated cries of alarm, finally declaring themselves temporarily safe as they board their ship and go to warp. The background music changes to something with less dramatic crescendos, slowing to a suggestive thump.

”...ooookay?”

Hugh doesn’t reply, too busy grinning as the hero’s companion - with whom there’s been unsubtly growing sexual tension - declares their intent to clean up but discovers that power failures mean the shower door won’t close. The hero makes a big show of looking away as they strip in extreme slow motion before soaping themselves up. After valiantly attempting to keep their eyes on the console, however, they tear off what remains of their own clothes and join them for a passionate kiss that quickly devolves into something closely resembling softcore porn.

Paul literally facepalms.

”Seriously? You said Tilly let _Adira_ watch this?”

Actually, he’s pretty sure Adira shared it with Tilly and they spent the whole time laughing themselves silly, but telling Paul that would spoil the fun.

“They’re sixteen, I’m sure they’ve seen worse.”

”I’m not talking about that-“ Paul flaps a hand at the bodies now undulating under a sheet, “I mean the fact that there’s zero production value!”

Hugh rolls onto his back, watching Paul gesture and sputter with increasing amusement.

”It’s supposed to be bad. It’s got four and a half stars from the crew precisely because of how campy it is.”

The overwrought moaning and breathy declarations of undying love come to a crescendo, and Hugh glances over to see the hero’s face frozen in open-mouthed ecstasy just as the credits start rolling. Paul covers his eyes with his hand again and groans.

“You’re sure they’re watching the same holo?”

”Mmhmm.”

Paul’s thigh shifts under his head and Hugh slides a little further up his lap, stopping when he feels something prod his ear. Licking his lips, Hugh grins.

”Are you complaining this much because it’s that terrible, or because you’re turned on by it?”

The hand comes off Paul’s eyes and he gives him an indignant glare.

”...what? Of course not, I-“

His profession of innocence is cut short as Hugh reaches up and fondles his half-hard erection through the thin fabric. 

“What’s this then?”

Paul’s mouth falls open when Hugh’s fingers deftly squeeze the tip, eyes fluttering closed before he forces them back open.

”You- your head...is right there.”

“Really? I’ve been laying here for an hour and a half and your dick was fine with it.”

Hugh rolls over the rest of the way and adopts a wide-eyed innocent expression, taking on the companion's dramatic delivery.

”Do you think I should run a manual diagnostic, Captain? Find out why the controls are so stiff?”

”Oh my god, that was a terrible scene, please don’t bring it back up.”

“But if they penetrate our defenses, we’ll be destroyed!”

Paul stares at him for the span of about three seconds before the mock outrage dissolves and he giggle-snorts.

”If you’re trying to get laid, this holo is not the way to go.”

“Are you sure?”

He punctuates the question with a tug.

”Positive.”

”So you’re not hard right now. At all.”

The evidence twitches in his grip.

”Nope.”

”Well that’s a pity then, because I thought I might take you to bed and fuck myself silly on it. I suppose I’ll just have to go to sleep since you’re depriving me of your- mmmmmphhh.”

With a smirk, Paul deftly unbuttons the front of his pants and effectively silences Hugh’s complaints. His amused hum draws a quiet moan, and he sets about seeing how much he can make them increase in volume. 

_Although..._

He pulls on Paul's arm insistently until he tips sideways, blinking in confusion and whining as Hugh releases him long enough to arrange them more comfortably on their sides.

”Wha-?”

Hugh licks his inner thigh, biting at the creamy skin.

"Since you're down there..."

He shoves his own pajama pants down around his hips, gives Paul’s hair a tug to propel him forward, and waits for his partner’s lust-fogged brain to catch on. The slick heat of Paul’s mouth surrounds him a moment later, world narrowing to the caress of a tongue and clever fingers. Forgotten behind them, the holo’s ending credits fade, and for a few minutes the only sounds are gasps and moans and the obscenely wet noises of their mutual pleasuring. 

His mindless focus breaks when Paul lets him slip from between his lips, heeding the hand pushing at his chest.

”...mmmmuhhh?”

Hugh pouts as the object of his affection bobs just out of reach from his outstretched tongue. The pout turns into a frown as Paul stands, dislodging him and pulling him to his feet. Paul's lips are reddened, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up in all directions, but he still manages a wink that makes Hugh’s balls tighten.

”Come on.”

He’s too distracted by Paul tossing his pajamas on the floor to form a coherent response.

"Huh?"

”Naked. Bed. Lube.”

”What?”

Stepping closer, Paul peels him out of his shirt.

”Someone said he was going to fuck himself silly on me.”

Hugh did say that, didn’t he?

While he stands there thinking, Paul falls backwards onto the bed, bouncing a few times as he moves towards the pillows and stretches for the nightstand. 

"Well? Or are you just going to stare?"

"You," Hugh kicks off his pants and follows, "are the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. Worth staring at."

Even aroused, Paul still blushes.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear doctor," he purrs, patting his lap, "so get up here."

Laughing in delight, Hugh goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hero and their companion's genders are deliberately not specified.


	184. Sibling

"You," Adira looks up as Tilly drops down to sit on the steps beside them, "are amazing."

"What?"

At the foot of the stairs with his knees tucked up out of the way (despite the fact that no one will actually bump into him), Gray's attention shifts from the forest in the cultivation bay back up to them.

Tilly jerks a thumb back over her shoulder towards the doors into the spore drive bay.

"You figured all of that out in a few minutes, upgraded the interface so that Stamets could get those ports out of his arms, and you saved Hugh. That's amazing, and it makes you pretty special."

She's smiling, no hint of condescension or envy on her face. Adira had been worried that their presence might be felt as an intrusion, seeing how close Tilly was with Stamets, but she’s never been anything but kind other than their initial meeting (and they really can’t blame her for that). 

“I guess? I mean...I wanted to help. Paul I mean, with the drive, it wasn’t super complicated.”

”You still suck at accepting compliments,” Gray adds.

They start a little when Tilly opens her arms, leaning in for a hug.

”Is this okay?”

Adira nods.

”Thank you.”

”For what?”

”For going down to the planet with the radiation pills. For coming up with a plan on your own in the middle of all of that.”

Oh.

”I needed to do something. Umm. Sorry for not asking?”

Their voice trails up, and Tilly reaches over and squeezes their fingers.

”Nah. I was freaking out with the whole being acting Captain thing. You were thinking ahead.”

Shaking their head, Adira’s lips curve in a half smile.

”I was thinking about Gray, actually.”

Two pairs of eyes blink at her in surprise.

”Me?”

”What?”

”They have something really special.”

Tilly follows their glance across the bay, eyebrows rising. It’s past 2100 and the dimmed lights make it harder to see two gray uniforms, the blue stripe on one almost obscured by a dense patch of _stella_. Paul and Hugh are leaning on a small hillock, curled together with their PADDs abandoned at their feet. Hugh’s jacket is unzipped, Paul’s hand beneath it wrapped around his waist, and from the looks of it they’re both dozing.

”When Hugh said goodbye to Paul before he beamed down...I don’t know. I just thought about what it felt like when-“ Adira closes their eyes, and when they open them again Gray is sitting on their other side, “when Gray died. And I had to do something. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

”It does.”

They fall silent for a couple of minutes, just watching the spores shimmering in the air.

”You know,” Tilly’s voice is quiet, “you’re very special to them too.”

Adira glances down at their knees, face heating.

”I'm glad they have you looking out for them too,” she continues, “you’re good for each other.”

Across the bay, an alarm goes off on one of their PADDs and Hugh stirs. Tilly lets go of their hand to wave at him with an exaggerated motion, and Adira nods as Gray blows them a kiss and wanders off.

”What’s that for?”

“To make sure they know we’re here so they don’t start making out or something.”

They’re just close enough to see the soft smile on Hugh’s face as he kisses Paul’s cheek and gently shakes him awake. Adira’s grateful for the distraction, unsure how to process the warm, squirmy feeling inside that has nothing to do with Tal in response to what Tilly was saying before Hugh woke up.

”They just woke up.”

”Let me tell you, any of those ideas you’ve got about old people and relationships? Thinking it’s safe to go in unannounced and stuff? Toss ‘em out, or you’re going to walk in on something you don’t want to see. Believe me.”

“Errr. Okay. I mean, it can’t be _that_ bad? And Hugh gave me their door code to use.”

She turns to look at Adira again.

”It’s safer to let them know you’re coming, unless you want to see Stamets without his shirt.”

”Ummm. I have. It was...”

”Weird?”

”Uhh huh.”

Whatever Tilly is about to say next is cut off as Paul and Hugh make their way over. Glancing between them, Paul’s eyes narrow.

”I’m not sure which of you is the bad influence.”

Tilly smiles brightly.

“That’s probably me. Older and wiser and all.”

“You’re not actually that much older than me.”

”Technically, no, but it’s fun to finally not be the youngest one around here.”

Hugh laughs, and Adira sees the way Paul’s eyes light up at the sound.

”What are you two up to?”

“Came to find you. Umm. Dinner, right?”

Yawning, Paul nods.

”Coming with us, Tilly?”

Tilly gives Adira a look they can’t quite decipher, but smiles a moment later, nudging their shoulders together.

”Sure.”


	185. Starved

The healing power of touch is something well-documented over the course of history, from studies on infant wellbeing through to psychological analysis of contact with other beings. Basic levels of common contact vary - Vulcans being a prime example - yet almost every known species of sentient life seeks out connections, whether through others of their own or through bonding with other life forms as pets.

It's part of the standard Starfleet Medical curriculum, bundled together with professional etiquette and cultural sensitivity, but it's something Hugh has always found intuitive. His bedside manner is made up of calm patience and respect together with reassuring touches (a hand on the arm when giving a difficult diagnosis), and physical affection is an integral part of his personal life (friends and family receive hugs and kisses on the cheek without reservation, a head on the shoulder or squeeze of the knee during conversation). No one though, more than Paul.

At first, he'd wondered if Paul was psi-sensitive or had some sort of touch telepathy based on his body language. Paul stood still or leaned away, shoulders rising in a 'don't get too close' signal that most everyone human could pick up on in social situations. He held PADDs in front of his chest or stepped around consoles to put a barrier between himself and others, offered his hand to shake instead of greeting even his friends with hugs. 

For all that he was standoffish and sharp at their first meeting, Hugh was struck with the gradual change. His crossed arms and frown eventually relaxed, and he went from leaning back in his seat to resting his elbows on the table, gesturing animatedly as he argued with Hugh about the merits of opera as a musical genre. He'd been prepared to respect his space on their first real date after weeks of comms, mentally kicking himself when he instinctively rested his hand on Paul's bare forearm over dinner and Paul stopped mid-sentence to stare at it. Before he could pull back and apologize though, Paul gave him the tiniest shy smile, turning his arm over to expose his wrist in a gesture that made Hugh's heart gallop. Their fingers laced together not long after, and he'd held Hugh's hand all through their meal, releasing it only to pay the bill. 

He'd hugged Paul goodnight at the end of that date, murmuring how much he'd enjoyed the evening. They let their arms fall but neither of them stepped back, faces inches apart and the air gone electric between them. Paul's body had swayed towards him, and Hugh remembers not being able to breathe as he slowly reached up to cradle Paul's cheek in his hand, eyes falling closed when their lips met.

Paul's bubble of personal space vanished with that kiss, as far as Hugh was concerned. It was nearly fifteen years ago when he'd learned that the public Paul and private Paul were two very different people, that away from the eyes of others, Paul was just as - if not more - affectionate than Hugh. He was overjoyed to find that the same man that didn't like to be bumped into in a crowd and complained about close quarters on public transports was on Hugh's lap back in his apartment, casual touches and kisses to be had in abundance.

In Hugh's absence, he realizes, Paul hadn't reached out to anyone else. Hadn't let himself be touched. He understands now that part of the smothering, overwhelming feeling of being caged in by Paul clinging to him came from touch-starved desperation. Every time they spoke after, he'd seen the way Paul's body had yearned towards him, shoulders turning to open himself and hands kept busy or clasped to avoid reaching out. At the time, it felt like a demand he didn't know how to respond to, wasn't sure he was even still capable of that level of giving. 

He's apologized since - they both have - and he's only too happy to snuggle and hold hands every chance they get. Their bodies have a secret language that they speak in the brush of fingertips and lips, in skin on skin. Before, it was kept out of sight, hidden away for just the two of them. Hugh wonders what dam burst that made Paul comfortable standing too close to him in front of others, to accepting kisses in the middle of Engineering when there's more than Tilly in the room. It stays professional, but the message is plain for others to see and he's not going to silence it when actions speak just as loudly as words. 

That secret language is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started as a lighthearted short about Hugh's bedside manner, then took a turn for the serious. Reading after, I feel like it's sort of two stories shoehorned into one, but I couldn't find a good spot to break it apart.


	186. Stars

“I expected the stars to be different, somehow.”

Paul’s contemplative murmur rouses Hugh from where he’s been drowsing half on top of his partner. It’s hard to focus on anything when there’s a steady heartbeat under his cheek and he’s being held close. He doesn’t raise his head from Paul’s chest, but gives an interrogative hum to let him know he’s listening. 

“For some reason,” he sighs into the hair on the top of Hugh’s head, “I thought there’d be some evidence in the universe of time passing. Because even though I know it doesn’t make sense, everything out there hasn’t changed that much.”

He’s obviously not talking about technology or the collapse of the Federation, and Hugh understands. Nine hundred years is barely a moment in the life of the universe where time is measured in millennia, in billions of years.

”I thought it would feel different, that I’d be different. And I am, but...”

Paul trails off, and Hugh opens his eyes when he hasn’t continued the thought a full minute later. As expected, he’s staring up at the stars visible from the viewports over the bed, and Hugh thinks he can almost see their light reflected in his eyes. 

“But what?”

”So you _are_ awake.”

It’s said with a smile, Paul’s eyes flicking down towards him. The hand on Hugh’s shoulder shifts, delving beneath the collar of his shirt to rub absently at the short hairs on the back of his neck.

“Yeah.”

He punctuates it with a kiss to the underside of Paul’s chin.

”Mmm. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

”Getting there,” Hugh flexes his fingers on Paul’s ribs, “but still listening. What were you going to say?”

Above him, Paul works his jaw as he seems to be searching for the right words. Hugh doesn’t rush him, content to wait until he’s ready. It’s cozy under the covers, and he probably will fall asleep if Paul takes longer than a few minutes to answer, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it. That assumption is borne out thirty seconds later when Paul licks his lips, sighing again.

”I’m- we’re all different now. I think I expected it to be different if things hadn’t turned out the way they did. If you...if we hadn’t.”

Hugh nods, but stays silent.

”Because you’re here with me, it’s like the universe isn’t different at all. I’m not...I don’t mean we haven’t changed, and haven’t grown. But that and everything out there,” he tips his chin up at the stars, “could actually be different, but how I feel about you won’t ever change.”

Even as he smiles at the declaration, Hugh’s eyes sting a little. He squirms up until they’re comfortably face to face, sees Paul wrinkling his nose as he’s likely managing a similar response. Paul looks sleepy but satisfied with his conclusion, arms tightening around Hugh.

There’s really only one thing he can say to that.

“You’re my home, sweetheart. Wherever, whenever. We’re here together.”


	187. Starved, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from Chapter 185 ("Starved") about the importance of touch between Paul and Hugh. Post-Season Three.

"Hugh?"

"Hmm."

Tracy props a hip against the console he's working at.

"Something I've been wondering about for years."

"Oh?"

"You've always kissed him like that."

He blinks, studying her expression. There's no hint of teasing, just a sincerely inquisitive look, and he frowns.

"Like what?"

Paul had stopped in over his lunch to see Hugh, stepping into the empty corridor leading to the private exam suites together. As far as Tracy knew from accidentally disturbing them, they weren't doing anything more risqué than hugging each other, and the dry comment on the tip of her tongue had vanished at the complete lack of any of the expected playful touching. She'd left them to it, and when they emerged a few minutes later, it was to share a quick kiss and Paul was on his way again. Tracy's been witness to more than her fair share of Hugh and his partner kissing - and doing other things - but most of them when their hands aren't otherwise occupied seem to share one thing in common.

"Touching his face."

He opens his mouth, closes it again. Kissing Paul is so much an instinctive thing that he hasn't really stopped to think about it, not in a very long time.

"...habit?"

"Mmm."

"Did I ever tell you about our first kiss?" he asks even though they both know the answer.

"In excruciating detail, yes," she huffs a long-suffering but fond laugh, "in the park across the street from the restaurant you took him to for dinner, after hugging him goodnight. You said he tasted like chocolate from dessert and smelled like joy."

"All of that. You know how he seemed so surprised when I touched his arm?"

She nods, remembering the dreamy look on Hugh's face when he recounted the date to her.

"I was so shaky that I thought I might pass out. Honestly, I think I was so nervous I was worried I'd miss, and I wanted to give him time to stop me if he didn't want it."

It's hard for her to imagine Paul ever rejecting affection from Hugh, to remember the early days when they didn't know each other completely.

"And I wanted to touch him," Hugh continues, eyes faraway, "he was so, so beautiful and...vulnerable. He let me in, and I wanted him to know that I understood. After that, I think it was because we were always saying hello and goodbye too often, it always meant something. You know how emotional I get."

Dr. Culber is the picture of calm, but Tracy's friend Hugh feels things deeply. Hugh's gentle touch is very much in keeping with who he is, especially with Paul. 

"Just a little."

"It just stuck, really. I don't- I'm not sure I can explain the why."

Tracy smiles at him, thinks of the wealth of kisses she's seen between them, that piece of the puzzle finally slotting into place. 

"You just did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten out of the habit of writing dual perspectives, but this one felt right to do so. 
> 
> All of your lovely comments inspired me to keep going with this thought, so thank you :) Culmets kisses (and non-kisses) almost always involve one of them touching the other's face, and I wanted to explore why and what Anthony and Wilson's body language suggests when they bring these two to life.


	188. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Season Three.

Hugh smiles as the door opens behind him with a draft of cold air moments before he feels warm hands on his hips and a kiss on the back of his neck.

"Morning babe."

Paul gives a sleepy grumble into Hugh's shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the traces of shampoo he's still rinsing out of his hair.

"What's that?"

"The bed was cold without you," he yawns, barely audible over the shower itself.

It doesn't sound like more than a standard complaint, but he reaches over and taps the controls, adjusting it to a gentle rainfall, and turns to face the man cuddled against him. Paul leans into the hand caressing his cheek, no trace of any deeper fears than usual, and Hugh lets out the breath he's been holding in relief. They've gone almost a week without Paul's nightmares - he'd made him promise to wake Hugh no matter the time - but he's still vigilant for any signs of distress.

"Well, let me warm you up now?"

"Are you offering a shower, or sex?"

The tiny smile curving his lips eases more of the tension from Hugh's stomach, and he chuckles, playfully licking away the droplets of water beading on a freckled shoulder. His body is always available for Paul's pleasure, but he suspects it's more a tease than a request.

"Either. Both."

"Mmm," Paul squirms, "shower. Too early."

"All right."

Keeping an arm around his waist, Hugh slicks back the hair clinging to Paul's forehead and reaches behind him for the soap. Paul tips his chin up for a kiss, the minty taste of toothpaste on his lips and eyes half open. He hums in contentment as Hugh lathers his hands up and begins to wash him with languid, unhurried motions, smoothing suds over his chest and back. Hugh drops to his knees briefly, thumbs tucked in the groove of Paul's hipbones, the iridescent sheen of a thousand tiny soap bubbles caught on the thick hair covering Paul's thighs. He stands to direct him back under the flow of water, rinsing them both in the process. 

Paul holds out his hand for the soap, but Hugh shakes his head.

"Already did before you got in."

"Hmph. Still want to touch you though."

"You're in luck then," he lets Paul crowd him gently against the wall, "I'm yours for the taking."

That earns him another kiss, then Paul takes a half step back and switches the shower to steam, wreathing them in mist. His fingers leave damp trails to mark their passage over Hugh's skin, feathering over his ears and down the sides of his neck to dance across his collarbone. He flattens his palms and presses them to Hugh's chest, smiling as he feels the muscles flex underneath, does the same with his stomach and hips before moving back up again. 

Hugh tugs him closer and Paul molds their bodies together from chest to thighs, rubbing against him in a way that's completely sensual without any sexual hunger. Their damp skin slides back and forth, eyes closed and cheeks touching, the sound of their sighs filling the cubicle. Eventually, Paul initiates another kiss, this one deeper but still unrushed. When they break apart, he nuzzles into the palm Hugh has curved around his jaw, kissing his wrist and fingertips. 

"Warm now?"

"Mmmhmm."

His laces their fingers together, squeezing and loosing them and letting his own roam down to Hugh's elbow and back.

"This is new," Paul traces Hugh's knuckles, fingers pausing over a slight ridge in the skin, a blemish between the veins and tendons on its otherwise smooth surface.

"What? Oh. Yeah, it is."

Frowning, Paul pulls Hugh's hand in front of his face, examining the triangular borders of raised tissue.

"Where di- " he pauses, mouth a perfect O of realization before snapping shut again, "oh."

Hugh hugs him, kissing Paul's temple.

"I wanted to keep it. To remind me."

"...of almost dying?"

He shakes his head.

"No, not that."

"I don't...why would you?"

It's difficult to explain, but so simple at the same time.

"To remind me of the wonder I felt seeing the holo. The pride in Adira coming to save us, and the joy of finally seeing Gray. And knowing I was coming back home to you."

Paul stills, tugging his hand back up. 

"Not all of our new memories are going to be easy, are they?"

His thumb traces the shape of the scar, over and over, emotions flickering in his eyes. Remembered pain, fear, and relief settle into quiet understanding and Paul presses a gentle kiss to it.

"I suppose not," Hugh murmurs.

"Okay."

Hugh tilts his head, uncertain.

"I can get rid of it if you don't-"

"No," Paul's voice is firm, "it's part of you. I'm not going to make you erase it unless you want to. I was just...I wasn't expecting it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He nods and kisses Paul again, sweet and slow.

"Do you want to get out?"

"Please?"

Dipping his head for another kiss, he reaches over and shuts off the shower, opening the door the bare minimum necessary to retrieve their towels. When they're more or less dry, Paul takes his hand and leads him back to bed. He doesn't let go even as they snuggle together under the sheets, legs tangled and sharing the pillow. His thumb rubs over the new scar as if committing it to memory, and Hugh knows that soon enough it will be as familiar to Paul as all of the marks on his body are to Hugh. 

Their story is writing new and sometimes painful chapters, but they're together and that's what matters.


	189. Superfluous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shore leave back home in Puerto Rico, early on in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title suggested by the wonderful Finnegancat <3 Merci mille fois pour le soutien!

"What," Hugh's voice is low and full of affectionate amusement, "are you doing?"

The grip on his hand tightens almost imperceptibly.

"What are you talking about?"

Guiding them around a group of shaded tables beside a restaurant, Hugh pulls them off the path and to a halt beside the trunk of a towering palm. The bustle of activity and conversation fills the background, a steady stream of people leisurely strolling along and enjoying the sunshine. He lifts their joined hands between their chests, lips quirked into a smile.

"You're holding on for dear life. We're not lost, and no one is going to bite you. Besides me," he adds with a wink, watching Paul squirm.

"Umm."

"I'm surprised you haven't wandered off to go scan the flora."

Hugh's tease draws a huff of laughter and Paul wrinkles his nose at just how well his partner knows him.

"I'm fine."

"Babe, you've been glued to my side like a limpet. The crowd isn't too much, is it?"

"What? No...no, it's fine."

He raises an eyebrow, tugging off his sunglasses to be able to look Paul in the eyes directly.

"Now I know something's wrong. Is it too much sun? We can leave if you're not comfortable."

"No! I-" Paul's shoulders slump, "I like it here."

Ducking his chin, the brim of his hat effectively hides his face, but Hugh waits patiently until he raises his head again.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"It's stupid. I know it is, but I can't stop... ugh."

"Guessing it's not stupid if it's bothering you."

Paul chews his lip and scowls, the expression seemingly more for whatever thoughts are inside his head than anything external. The silence drags on, and Hugh shifts to cant his hip against the tree trunk, settling in to wait until whatever it is that's going on inside that brilliant Stamets brain coalesces into something he can make sense of verbally. His partner is gorgeous in the late morning sunshine, the light sheen of sweat on his skin only making him more appealing. At last, Paul heaves a sigh and opens his mouth again. 

"You brought me home, to see your favorite beach. And I _know_ how much you love me and I don't doubt anything about it at all-" he squeezes Hugh's hand again, "but I just look around and..."

Hugh blinks, not sure where this is going.

"And?"

"And I just think, of all of this," Paul's gesture takes in the entirety of their surroundings, then himself, "you're with _me_, and I guess I'm just...feeling possessive. And insecure. Everyone else is enjoying themselves, and I'm like this. I told you, it's stupid."

_Oh sweetheart._

His chest tightens at the sentiment, but also a little bit of sadness. Hugh looks around again, at the tanned bodies on display laying out in the sand and jogging by, at his own shirtless figure in shorts barely longer than swimming trunks. Paul is also in shorts, but by contrast they're almost knee length and he's protecting his pale skin with a loose shirt and a copious amount of sunblock 

"It's not stupid. Unnecessary, but not stupid."

"Hugh-"

"Listen to me, sweetheart. You. Are. Beautiful. And you're mine, and I'm not going to...I don't know, decide you're not as interesting because you're making a medically responsible decision to not give yourself second degree burns just because everyone else is wearing less clothing. I grew up with all of this, so I'm used to it, but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

Paul shuffles his feet, staring at Hugh's shoulder before he nods, slowly.

"How do you make 'medically responsible' sound like a compliment?"

"Because it is?"

Tilting his head to the side, Hugh considers the way Paul is still holding his hand tightly. A half-formed hypothesis springs to mind.

"Is this about running into my cousins earlier?"

The flush on Paul's cheeks confirms it.

"...sort of. I just- they're your _cousins, _and I'm being stupid about it."

He thinks about the unexpected pleasure of seeing more family, the hugs and kisses and automatically switching to Spanish to catch up, and it occurs to him how he thoughtlessly excluded Paul from the conversation until his uncertain smile reminded Hugh that both of their badges with the universal translator technology are back in Hugh's room at his grandmother's house. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, genuinely regretful, "I didn't even think about that. We were just catching up."

"It's not-" Paul laughs quietly, uncomfortably, "I need to learn at some point anyway. Just, you all were so comfortable touching each other, and I'm not and seeing you like that...yeah."

It's not envy, that he's sure of. Instead, it plays right into Paul's remaining insecurities that Hugh's worked hard on but they both know are still very much present. He considers and discards a half-dozen things to say that might come off as trite platitudes, and settles on the truth at the heart of it all.

"Paul Stamets, I love you just the way you are."

He follows the statement up with a gentle kiss, hoping Paul understands.

"You are essential to my happiness," he nuzzles Paul's temple before switching to a lighter tone, "even if you have horrible taste in shirts."

He pulls back to enjoy Paul's face trying to decide between frowning and laughter as he stares down at the loud tropical print.

"Shut up, your grandmother gave me this to wear."

Hugh wrinkles his nose.

"So?"

"She said you'd like it."

A grin breaks free, knowing the tease is about to be turned back on him.

"What?"

"I do. It's mine."

Paul sputters for a few seconds before giving up trying to speak and crowds Hugh into the tree behind him, kissing him hard. When they separate, all traces of the frown are gone, Paul's eyes bright and mischievous.

"I love you too."

"You better believe it."

"Come on. You promised to show me this beach, right?"

Hugh shakes his head fondly and leads them back onto the path, fingers laced together and another brick in the wall against Paul's self-doubt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing spree because I can't concentrate at work. Trying to do background reading on quantum computing :P
> 
> I keep portraying Paul with a lot of self-criticism because that's sometimes what's behind someone who pushes themselves to excel at their work. I do hope I'm not making him one-note with constant references to feeling insecure, because that's something we don't really see on screen given how long they've been together at that point.


	190. Significant

They’re much younger when Paul asks the question, curled against Hugh’s side in the afterglow.

”What’s it like?”

”Mmm?”

The languid, pleased noise sends a flush of pleasure over his sweaty skin, and he burrows closer in response.

“To be able to- I mean...never mind.”

Hugh peels one eye open, his sated smile fading in concern.

”What were you going to say?”

”Nothing. It’s not important.”

Paul closes his eyes and stuffs his face against Hugh’s chest, but his lover doesn’t let him hide for long.

”Sweetheart, you know you can ask me anything.”

”I know,” he mutters, “it just seems...rude.”

”You don’t have to, if you really don’t want to, but I can’t imagine you asking anything I’d take offense to.”

He busies himself with cleaning them both, careful swipes with the damp towel left on the nightstand, and Hugh lets him take the time to think before they’re tucked under the duvet together.

”I was going to ask. What it’s like to have sex.”

A bemused chuckle.

”I’m pretty sure that’s what we were just doing?”

Paul pokes his side.

”I mean, I just- I’ve never enjoyed it.”

_That_ gets Hugh’s attention, and he sits up abruptly, turning to face Paul with an unreadable look.

”What- you don’t, but we...”

”No! No, no no,” Paul sits up too, face flushing, “I’m not explaining...ugh.”

Very slowly, Hugh folds his hands in his lap and shifts back until they’re no longer touching. Paul catches on immediately and nearly tackles him onto the bed.

”I wasn’t talking about us! This, you...you’re amazing.”

Hugh swallows, wetting his lips but staying silent. From someone who always knew what to say, Paul nearly facepalms at putting his foot in his mouth up to the knee.

“Fuck, I’m really screwing this up. What I meant to ask, is what’s it like to have sex that isn’t like this. Where there’s not...” he groans, searching for the right words, “any way I think about saying it, it’s going to sound insulting.”

”I won’t be insulted.”

It’s quiet, but sincere.

”You’ve had sex with people you weren’t in a relationship with.”

The statement isn’t quite a question, but Hugh nods anyway.

”Sure.”

”And it was good?”

”Well,” Hugh raises an eyebrow, “no, it wasn’t always as good as I’d hoped.”

”But you...enjoyed it?”

”That’s usually the idea with sex, isn’t it?”

Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows Hugh’s had casual sex, isn’t bothered by him having done so in itself, but something is itching at him.

“You know I haven’t been in a lot of relationships.”

”It’s relative.”

Hugh seems to be having a bit of trouble breathing with Paul wrapped around him like an octopus, so he rolls them onto their sides.

“I mean, I’ve never really been able to let go. To feel comfortable with- fuck, even in a relationship.”

”Do you feel comfortable with me?”

”I told you, we’re different. You’re different. It’s never just sex even when it is, and that probably doesn’t make sense.”

”Actually, it does.”

Some of the worry drains from Hugh’s face, and he sighs.

”What I think you’re asking, no, it’s not the same. It can be a lot of fun, I won’t lie, but it’s physical. Even with a friend, it doesn’t have to be more than satisfying lust or some mutual kink. It feels good, and we both got what we were looking for, usually. It’s not like that for you though, is it?”

Paul chews his lip, comparing it against his own experiences and coming up short.

“It’s been...awkward. And it’s not like people are usually interested if I don’t know them anyway.”

”Sweetheart, they probably are. Not that I’m planning to share.”

“Do you ever...miss it?”

The response is immediate and surprisingly lacking in defensiveness.

”No.”

“Are you sure I’m not making an ass of myself asking?”

”You're not.”

”I didn’t mean-“

”I know.”

Hugh’s smile means he does, but Paul still needs to finish explaining.

”It’s just never been easy with anyone else. And it never felt- even when it was with someone I thought loved me? It didn’t feel like it mattered the same way. It never felt special. I wanted it to, but it didn’t.”

A warm hand curves along his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

”I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

“I’ve never, ever had the kind of...making love that we do before. So to answer your question? You’re not really missing anything. It can be fun, but I don’t think I could even be with anyone besides you, Paul. Ever. You’re beyond special, and I hope I never fail to show you that.”

There’s no words he can find to answer that, not with Hugh’s patience and understanding. Doesn’t need to, with Hugh’s love. 

And that’s what makes it different, isn’t it?


	191. Sudden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Discovery. Paul comes to visit Hugh on duty at Starfleet Medical.

"Hugh, your interpretation of these readings would be most welcome. I find there is not a logical pattern to-"

Paul's eyes snap open in horrified chagrin as the doors of the office slide open to admit T'Vala, the PADD she's focused on delaying her keen observation skills just a little too long. His hands scramble to cover himself, but considering Hugh's head buried in his lap, he really needn't have worried.

"Ummm."

He's aware of his face, previously heated with arousal, now burning with embarrassment. Of all of Hugh's colleagues to discover them, did it have to be the _Vulcan?_ Tracy he could live with, since it would be yet another instance to add to her litany of dramatic complaint, but, well...Vulcan.

One delicately arched eyebrow rises, her momentary surprise shown only in the tips of her ears flushing a slight emerald.

"Ahh. I see your mate has arrived ahead of schedule. Greetings, Paul."

Glancing down, he makes panicked eye contact with Hugh, whose mouth is rather too full to respond. He hums something, which probably has the opposite effect of its intention, and his eyelashes flutter for a moment while he forces down the urge to thrust up.

"...hello, T'Vala."

"My apologies for interrupting your reunion," T'Vala's voice is as calm as ever, but he could swear there's the tiniest hint of amusement in her sharp gaze, "had I known, I would not have intruded."

There's a slight note of reproach, and Hugh very carefully straightens, angling his body to block her view of Paul's rapidly wilting erection. He wipes a hand across his mouth as he does, other hand fisted over his own lap to hide the tent in his uniform pants. Were the situation not quite so mortifying, Paul would be amused at his partner's attempt to pull Dr. Culber's professional manner back on in that state.

"T- ahem. T'Vala."

"Indeed, that is my name."

"I, we...what do you need?"

The eyebrow moves even higher.

"I had hoped to request your consultation, but as you are otherwise occupied, I shall seek Tracy instead."

"I'm sorry. We- shouldn't..."

He trails off, and Paul swears he can feel the heat of Hugh's embarrassment where his knees bracket his white-clad shoulders.

T'Vala's eyebrow drops, and she finally lowers the PADD to fold her hands behind her back.

"Indeed. There is no shame in reaffirming one's bond with one's mate after so long a separation. However, I would recommend that if you are to carry out such activities, you remember to engage the locking mechanism on the door of the room you have chosen."

With that, she inclines her head to them both, stepping back to allow the doors to close again. Hugh slumps against Paul's leg, face buried in his thigh as he groans. 

"Fuck."


	192. Sudden, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Vala fills Tracy in on the events of the previous chapter.

"Tracy, may I request your assistance?"

"Hmm? Sure, what is it?"

"These readings are somewhat anomalous, mainly consistent with Andorian measles, but there is a genetic mutation that suggests a developmental detriment to the patient which I cannot find reference to elsewhere in the literature."

"Well...xenobiology isn't my specialty, but let me take a look. Although, you'd probably be better off asking Hugh."

"Indeed. I attempted to, but found him...indisposed."

"What?"

"You are aware that Paul was scheduled to arrive at thirteen forty-five?"

"He won't shut up about it, so yeah."

"Ahh. Apparently he found a means by which to shorten the duration of the journey."

"...do I want to know?"

"I predict there is an eighty-three percent likelihood you would be interested in being made aware of it, for the purpose of, as you say, 'leverage'."

"All right."

"I entered the office to share these findings with Hugh, and discovered them engaged in an act of oral copulation, as they neglected to activate the lock."

"They were _what__?"_

"Engaged in oral copulation, which I believe humans colloquially refer to as a 'blowj-' "

"Yeah, yeah, no I know what it is. I just wasn't expecting you to...anyway. Well. Sorry you had to see that."

"Their stage of undress was minor. You'll recall, you and I both were unintended witnesses to their reunion approximately ten months ago."

"Ohhh yeah. Sorry, I was trying _not_ to remember what Paul's ass looks like. Anyway."

"It was indeed far more pale than might be expected."

"...mmmphh. All right, think we can get this figured out before they zip back up and join us?"

"Based on prior knowledge, I estimate we have an additional six point four minutes at minimum before they will return if they complete the activity I interrupted, and eleven point three minutes if Paul chooses to reciprocate."

"T'Vala?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they say Vulcans don't have a sense of humor.


	193. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul finally lets Hugh go on another away mission. It's not easy.

Paul's inside a Jefferies Tube, manually checking a set of circuits powering up the drive matrix. It's something easily done remotely - he could have sent a crew member if he felt so inclined to worry about the physical hardware - as a diagnostic, but he needs the distraction.

****

_You're worried," Reno points out far too reasonably, "it's okay to admit that. You won't break out in hives or something."_

_"I'm fine."_

_"Are you? Because I'm pretty sure that stylus never did anything to you-"_

_Paul glances down to find a pronounced bend in the smooth metal casing, courtesy of his tense grip, and hastily stuffs it up his sleeve for lack of a better hiding spot. These new uniforms have a distinct lack of pockets. _

_"-actually, I don't want to know what it might have done. Anyway. Go...commune with your mushrooms or something."_

_"Don't you have actual work to do?" Paul snaps, but his heart isn't in it._

_"It's my life's mission to make your life miserable."_

_"Mmm."_

_Reno takes her hands off her hips, steps closer until she's just at the edge of Paul's personal space. The exaggerated exasperation fades into an expression even more disturbing: compassion._

_"Paul. It's a medical mission, he's got Pollard and everyone else with him. No wars, no environmental hazards, just him being a doctor. Go find something to take your mind off it, I'll make sure the kids don't blow anything up."_

_Her voice raises at the end, loud enough that Adira, who's been very unsubtly trying to eavesdrop, flushes and sticks their head under a floor panel pretending to work on something._

_"...fine."_

_His shoulders drop, and he scoops up a PADD and heads for the ladder._

_"I'm going to..." he waves a hand vaguely towards the Jefferies Tube, "that."_

_Reno takes a seat on the stairs, waving her hand at him as if shooing off a fly._

_Paul goes._

****

When he accidentally shocks himself for the fourth time re-wiring connections that he'd mastered half-asleep in his final year at the Academy, he closes his eyes, curses quietly, and bangs his head on the paneling. It doesn't do anything other than leave him with a slightly sore forehead, but he closes up the relay and climbs to a different section that's out of the way of any but the most obscure maintenance.

He itches to make contact. Just one tap of the commbadge and he can talk to Hugh, hear his voice soothing Paul's worry as he did before beaming down. It would be easy, but he shouldn't. He should be able to handle this just fine all by himself. 

****

_"Sweetheart, you're going to have to let go of my hand."_

_Hugh's smile is gentle, teasing, but there's a hint of concern to it. On the other side of the medbay, Tracy, Aisha, and Zarrin are doing their best to look like they aren't waiting on Hugh with varying degrees of success. The thing is, Paul knows he's being ridiculous, but he can't stop the panicked feeling at the thought of Hugh being **off the ship on a strange planet**. It's a simple mission, really, just bringing medical aid to a colony cut off for too long from the Federation in need of the most basic supplies and possibly a bit of healing. They've scanned the planet, which together with being remarkably Earth-like, doesn't even boast animal predators, much less deteriorating starships with radiation leaks and accidentally homicidal Kelpiens._

_He's clinging to Hugh's hand in lieu of the lack of decorum found in bodily wrapping himself around his partner. It's not like they're going to the transporter room, all Hugh really has to do is detach Paul's hand and he can beam down immediately. His face softens still further, and he tugs Paul into the corner._

_"It's just for a few hours. We'll be in comms range the entire time, okay?"_

_Paul closes his eyes and exhales, bringing his free hand up to grip Hugh's waist._

_"I know."_

_The bristles of Hugh's beard tickle his temple as he presses a kiss there._

_"I know you do."_

_They'd talked about it the night before, Paul had even professed his sincere happiness that Hugh was going to be able to tend to others in the way that his fundamental healer’s nature required. Everything was fine, he'd assured Hugh at breakfast. He was only planning to come by and see him off, but his façade of calm snapped when he saw Hugh packing the anti-radiation meds in his emergency kit. _ _Paul's almost **fifty**, for goodness sakes, he shouldn't be reacting to his partner leaving the ship for a short mission this way._

_Slowly, he opens his stubbornly resisting hand and untangles their fingers. _

_"Sorry."_

_Tracy and the others won't mind, so he has no reason to feel embarrassed when Hugh catches his hand again and raises it to his lips for another kiss._

_"I'll be back in time for dinner."_

_"Don't be late," Paul mutters, lips quirked in a half smile._

_Hugh flashes him one of his trademark grins, then nods at Tracy and taps his badge. As soon as the sparkles fade, Paul turns on his heel and marches down to Engineering. He's off shift, but surely there's something that needs doing?_

****

Three hours later, there's the clank of a double set of boots on duranium. Paul's too busy staring at the wall to realize that there's no reason any other crew member would come this way until two heads, one dark and one flame-haired, pop around the corner.

"What?"

Tilly and Adira share an indecipherable look, then the next thing he knows he's being sandwiched between them in his alcove really only meant for one person. They end up a bit squished, but neither of them seem inclined to let him leave, Adira's legs stretched casually over his knees and Tilly effectively blocking the exit. He's sure they can feel the tension in him like a coiled spring.

"So," Tilly rests her heels on the grating, "we had an idea for improving the energy-matter conversion ratio by point-eight percent."

Their voices are familiar and soothing as they exchange comments, and he should be paying attention but mostly he's focused on the way Adira's leaning their head on his shoulder and trying not to let the knot in his stomach expand into anything else.

"...re-align the couplers. Nilsson says she can help, and it should only take half a day at most."

Paul tunes back in when he realizes they're looking at him with expectant faces and he's probably let the pause for a response drag on awkwardly. He gives a short noncommittal hum, and that seems to be enough because they're off again. Sighing, he picks at a hangnail until it bleeds, then pops the injured finger in his mouth. Eventually, he zones back in on the conversation, and promptly wishes he hadn't.

"Rhys said he could teach me some of the self-defense stuff he does with Hugh."

He controls the flinch, ignoring their worried looks.

"Really?" Tilly's voice rises with what he recognizes as genuine excitement, "can he teach you how to flip people over your head?"

"I don't know. Gray says it'll be fun, and Rhys promised he wouldn't let me get hurt."

"He's good like that. He's been kickboxing with Owo too. Can't seem to get Stamets here into the gym though."

The poke to his ribs barely registers, and he makes another neutral noise.

"Can we get started on the conversion project this week?"

"Sure," he mumbles absently, not really listening even though he knows he ought to.

"What about doing martial arts stuff with Rhys? He said I should ask you if it's okay."

"Sure."

"Reno has twelve toes."

"Mmm."

"I think I'm allergic to paprika. My arm got all itchy after dinner last night."

"Ahh."

"I'm pregnant with twins, and I think I'm having kittens. With tails. And big fuzzy ears. Hugh's going to be their secular non-religious spiritual parent."

"That's nic- wait, what?!"

He blinks back to Tilly and Adira giving him identical _'really?'_ looks.

"Gray said to give you space, but we were worried," Adira nudges him with a bony elbow, "like, seriously worried."

"I'm fine."

Tilly raises her eyebrow in an incredulous stare that she must have picked up as Saru's first officer. Maybe from Micha-

_Nope._

Paul stops that train of thought before the shuttle can depart the station.

"Did Reno send you?"

"Hugh did."

He blinks at Tilly.

"What? Why?" 

Paul swipes open his badge, but there aren't any messages waiting. The little blue dot tracking Hugh's position on the planet's surface hasn't moved either.

"Well, technically it was Doctor Pollard," Adira points out, "she said Hugh wanted her to pass on a message because he was in surgery."

"He's going to be late for dinner," Tilly picks up the thread of explanation, "apparently some of the kids are really malnourished, and a few of them were hooked up to machines for organ failure because the colony couldn't get help."

"Why not just beam them up to Discovery?"

"Something about a local custom where the parents have to give permission. But umm. Their parents all died in a mining accident."

"Oh."

"Doctor Pollard said they have to treat them there, it's just going to take longer. They're beaming equipment down, but she said none of them would probably be back for another eight hours."

_Eight hours. Looks like you're going to bed alone._

Paul hates his current neediness, apologizes on a regular basis for the insecurity, but Hugh's love is generous and understanding. Hugh hasn't let him go to sleep alone at all since the...Osyraa incident. The few occasions an emergency call came in and he had to leave for the medbay in the middle of the night, he'd carefully shaken Paul awake to let him know. He's even shifted his morning run a half hour later so Paul doesn't have to wake up to find the bed empty. 

When he focuses on them again, they're both waiting expectantly. 

"Thank you for passing on the message. I'll just go-"

"Nope."

"You can't."

One hand on each forearm keeps him from rising to leave. Tilly and Adira look at each other again, and Paul really should find out if they're learning telepathy without telling anyone.

"I'm fine," he mutters again, trying to shake free.

They release him immediately, but Adira shifts their weight until they're actually sitting on Paul's shin and effectively keeping him in place.

"No," Tilly's voice is gentle, "Paul, you're not."

He's still not used to her using his first name, but the unease doesn't come from indignation but rather the fact that Tilly's come so far since she was too terrified to address him by anything but his full rank and title and thinking about it makes his chest tight. For so long the only ones onboard who called him Paul were Hugh and Tracy, more Tracy than Hugh actually, given the endearments used in its place. It was fine with him - under Lorca's command, he'd rather be just Stamets or Lieutenant in the middle of a war, to keep the lines clear and remind him that he's not tucked away in his lab with Straal and their team. Now Adira and Tilly have been added to that very exclusive group, and he's still in the process of rearranging his feelings. 

"You're going to keep working to try and distract yourself, and then get exhausted, and Hugh won't like that."

Adira manages to sound both confident and unsure at the same time, probably wondering if they've overstepped. How can he explain to them though, the fear eating him alive of having to climb into an empty bed, of waking to find Hugh not beside him?

"I-"

"You're coming to dinner with us, and then we're watching holonovels until Hugh gets back."

Tilly's statement brooks no opposition, for all that it's delivered gently. Hamstrung by their care, his shoulders slump, and he squeezes the bridge of his nose briefly to will back the prickling in his eyes.

"Please?"

Adira picks up his hand carefully, their entire hand seemingly engulfed by his palm.

"Hugh told you to do that?"

"Well, he said dinner. The second part, we thought you might like company?"

_I'm supposed to be looking after them._

"...okay."

"Really?" Tilly blinks, "I thought we'd have to argue another three minutes at least."

That draws the first genuine smile since Hugh beamed down to the planet.

"We can, but I think I'm hungry."

As if to illustrate his point, his stomach growls loudly, and Adira snickers before shuffling backwards off his leg.

"Come on. Food."

"Okay."

"So I found this great holo to watch. It's a little trashy, but-"

Both of them give him bemused looks when he starts laughing without explanation, tinged with relief. The laughter seems to have uncoiled the tension wound tight in his stomach, replacing it with something much warmer as they climb down and head out down the corridor. Tilly and Adira are half a step ahead of him, one on each side, clearly pleased with themselves that they succeeded in their mission.

_Family_, he thinks, _my family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for being behind on replying to comments - please know that I appreciate every single one!
> 
> This was supposed to be a lighthearted, silly tale about Hugh beaming back up from an away mission with a minor condition, the treatment of which leaves him rather...excitable, and Paul having to deal with it. Umm. Then I wrote the first flashback scene and two thousand words of this happened instead. 
> 
> I'm not 100% sure on the new uniforms lacking pockets - there is a suspicious diagonal crease at the left waist/hip, but I can't get a good enough glimpse to tell if that's a tailoring artifact or a hidden pocket.


	194. Succor

Hugh wonders, as Paul lays asleep in his arms, whether his love would feel the same (unnecessary) guilt at his lingering fears were he to know how close Hugh’s own night terrors still lurked. The process of taming them had been far from easy, although they’d mostly passed with a healthy dose of self-treatment by researching the means to cope with trauma, and more than a few nights spent huddled on Tracy’s couch listening to her steady breathing. Because although he’d distanced himself from Paul during that rocky time after his return, he still craved connection and his oldest friend was happy to oblige. Many was the morning Tracy woke to find him still staring blearily out the viewport, silent save for a quiet “good morning”. She never treated him any different than usual after her initial bout of tears, and he doesn’t know that he can ever thank her enough for helping him find his footing again. 

Even as he felt like a stranger in his own body, at one remove from reality, he knew there were edges he couldn’t smooth on his own. Knew that even Tracy’s signature sarcasm and fond teasing couldn’t fill the void in his chest that he continued to deny. Knew that returning to duty and assuming the mantle of Dr. Culber was a thin veneer over his loneliness.

He and Paul had talked about their time apart in fits and bursts, hours spent holding each other as they worked through it together, then days where it never reared its head. Hugh hadn’t felt right burdening Paul with the fallout of his own choice, but honesty compels him to admit it. It never seems like the right time though, especially not with Paul needing his steadiness to anchor his own healing.

His love is strong, resilient. Too many traumas piled up - losing Hugh the first time to death, a second time to resurrection, a supposed third to time travel, and nearly a fourth to radiation poisoning - are finally coming home to roost. Any single one of those could break a lesser person completely, and yet Paul is judging himself harshly for needing reassurance in simple touch and smiles, for craving kisses and sweet intimacy. 

Paul’s ashamed of his reactions, as though all of the trauma could simply be swept aside were he simply to will it away. Even the formidable Stamets resolve is no match, and Hugh knows that the failure frustrates him all the more. He apologizes, as if Hugh weren’t deriving just as much comfort from holding him close, as if he’s somehow weak because of it. Nothing could be further from the truth.

He murmurs in his sleep, shifting under the covers to burrow further into Hugh’s chest. Hugh kisses his forehead and smooths his hair back, breathes Paul in and tightens his arms. Paul makes a noise of contentment, then falls still again.

They need each other right now, and Hugh knows the only true remedy is time and love. Both are now theirs in abundance, to shape as they will, stitching each other back together till the tapestry of their lives is mended.

Tomorrow, he’ll tell him again how his nightmares are held at bay with Paul beside him, tell him until he believes that his love is not and will never be a burden. For now... Hugh pulls the covers higher and finally closes his own eyes, letting Paul’s presence soothe him into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest it seem I’m piling too much onto Paul (blame canon), Hugh still has his own demons to wrestle with. They truly make each other stronger - despite the old adage of want being more important than need in a relationship, they’re too much a part of the other’s heart to be apart.


	195. Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy talks to Paul while he's lost in the network.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST. Heavy, heartbreaking, angst.

Tracy steps through the privacy field and crosses the medbay to where Paul is restrained, head moving in small motions of agitation. 

He's muttering something, but she can't hear it clearly until she gets closer.

"...safe. Keep you safe. Keep you safe."

"Paul?"

No response.

She carefully touches his temple, where she's seen Hugh stroke the back of his fingers and kiss dozens of times over the years.

"Paul? It's Tracy."

Nothing.

Tracy takes Hugh's jacket from under her arm and shakes it out, laying it over him gently. The white fabric of the collar catches on his cheek, and he stops, inhaling, before falling still. Above the biobed, the readout indicates a slight change in his neural activity, but she can't tell if that's due to whatever is going on inside his head or response to external stimulus. 

Tucking the edges of the jacket around his shoulders, Tracy locks down her emotions. 

She has an autopsy to perform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Tracy’s autopsy report in Chapter 18 of When Sorrow Turns To Joy.


	196. Silver (Screen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title suggested by the wonderful LadyRiona.

Paul wakes with a crick in his neck and a foot in the middle of his back. He tries to think how Hugh's foot could be there when it's most definitely his armpit that Paul's nose is buried in, shifting on the strangely lumpy mattress.

A distinctly feminine groan sounds behind him, and that foot moves.

"Oooph," he grumbles as the heel digs in before it retracts.

_Wait._

Opening his eyes, he lets them adjust to the dark lighting. It must still be night cycle, but there's enough light coming in from the stars to see that one, he and Hugh are not in bed, and two, they're also not alone. Also, someone is snoring, and it's not Hugh's cute snuffly ones either.

Glancing down, Adira seems to be using Hugh's thigh as a pillow, arms wrapped around his knee and drooling slightly. However, they also don't appear to be close enough to have a foot in his back, so...

Paul inhales a mouthful of hair when he rolls over.

_Ahh._

Tilly's curled up into a ball behind him, hair everywhere and feet definitely in range. Scooting closer to Hugh's side, he tries to remember how the four of them ended up asleep on the floor together.

* * *

_Tilly looks like she wants to agree with Adira that a pile of cushions on the floor is better for watching holonovels, but her eyes skate sideways at their hosts on the couch. Before Paul can do more than open his mouth, Hugh is already on his feet, grinning and nodding. He cheerfully ejects Paul from the couch with an unsubtle pinch to his backside, then collects pillows from the bed and retrieves extra from the closet along with blankets. _

_By the time the three of them are done stacking and fluffing, Paul's lost the battle against doing anything but smiling, feigned annoyance falling away. Tilly and Adira are already digging into the popcorn, and Hugh holds out his arm for Paul to snuggle in._

_Halfway through the third holonovel in the epic trilogy, he notices that Hugh's nodded off when the hand scratching the back of his neck falls still. As the credits roll, Tilly and Adira are still discussing the plot points and complaining about the action sequences when Paul decides it's time to close his eyes too. _

* * *

His bladder has decided he can't continue to ignore it, so he untangles himself from Hugh and slowly stands. Stepping over Tilly, he shuffles to the bathroom to take care of things. On the way back, he stubs his toe on the overturned popcorn bowl, grimacing as a sharp kernel digs into the bottom of his foot.

_Ouch._

Too tired to deal with it now, he grumbles and reaches for the blankets tangled around Adira's feet at the far end of their giant franken-pillow. Tilly doesn't move when he covers her, but Adira wrinkles their nose and shifts, mumbling into Hugh's leg. Paul wonders if it's just wishful thinking when his brain translates the mumbles as, "thanks Dad".

Laying down again, he wraps the last blanket around himself, covering Hugh's leg (the one not claimed by Adira) and chest. His partner won't be cold, but there's no reason not to share the covers when it means more snuggling, and he's rewarded with a quiet groan and an arm wrapping itself around him. Humming in contentment, Paul buries his face in the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder and goes back to sleep.

In the morning, he wakes up to the sound of Tilly cursing when she trips over the popcorn bowl. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to make up for the last chapter with some fluffity fluff.


	197. Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's thoughts on kissing Hugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title once again from the list of prompts from LadyRiona :)

"...mmmphhh."

"What's that, love?"

Paul's eyes drift open lazily to find Hugh watching him with a tiny frown of curiosity wrinkling his brow and lips still parted. They're wet and and swollen from kissing, and he manages a distracted response as the tip of Hugh's pink tongue darts out to lick at the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to rub across his chin absently, snuggling closer to Hugh on the swing. 

"Nothing."

Behind them, he can hear Hugh's grandmother giving directions in the kitchen, and based on the delicious smells wafting through the open door, they'll soon be summoned in for dinner. With that in mind, he leans in and fastens their mouths together again, gently tugging Hugh's lower lip with his teeth and moaning quietly when the hand on his back slides underneath the hem of his shirt. 

They've kept it to kissing and cuddling while outside Hugh's room, hands politely above the waist and over clothing as the swing rocks back and forth. It's been far from easy, but the knowledge that Hugh's entire family is a few meters away keeps them from trying to sneak in a discreet grope. Having to explain why he likes kissing Hugh was bad enough, and Paul thinks he might die of embarrassment if Hugh's niece Nella rushed out to ask her tíos a question and found his hand down his partner's pants. Aida's knowing smile last night had also stopped Hugh's wandering fingers in their tracks, even under cover of the blanket they shared, tucked into a corner of the couch together while everyone sat in front of the fireplace to chat. 

Still, kissing Hugh is far from a consolation prize. He likes swallowing Hugh's tiny gasps and sighs, heads tipped at just the right angle to prevent their noses from colliding, and enjoys the slick slide of lips and tongues, Paul's hand curved around a strong jaw. More than that, he loves the almost intoxicated looks he gets when they break for air, filled with desire and no little tenderness. Hugh's bedroom eyes leave no room for anything other than believing in the depth of their love.

He does wince as Hugh kisses a bit more aggressively, pressing their faces even closer together. Much as likes the look and feel of Hugh's beard rubbing his skin in other places, his chin and upper lip are getting a bit raw and he can't ignore the sting.

"-ugh."

"Hmmm?"

Hugh nuzzles his cheek.

"Ummm."

The thumb tracing over his lips unfortunately makes him wince again, and it's too obvious for even a very distracted Hugh to miss. His gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What's wrong? I didn't- I wasn't too rough, was I?"

Considering that Paul's the one who keeps nipping at Hugh's mouth, he's not sure how that could possibly be the case.

"No, of course not. It's just..."

"Sweetheart?"

"I don't suppose you have a regen in your pocket?"

A smirk.

"That's a terrible line."

"Seriously. Umm. It's a little-" he waves his fingers in a vague gesture at his own chin, "yeah."

Hugh stares at him with blank incomprehension for the space of about five seconds before his look of concern turns to a self-deprecating smile.

"Ohh. You are a little pink."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I was enjoying it."

He gets a chuckle and a headshake, then Hugh plants a very careful kiss on his chin.

"I'm sorry, love."

"It's fine, I just don't want your grandmother to think I have some kind of allergy."

Hugh snorts.

"Come on," he eases Paul off his lap with one more kiss, then draws them both to their feet, "there's a regen in the upstairs bathroom."

They pass through the kitchen, and Paul feels his cheeks heating as Aida glances up from where's she's supervising Nella and her brother chopping vegetables and winks.

Upstairs, he boosts himself to sit on the bathroom counter as Hugh digs through one of the drawers and checks the settings on the small silver device.

"How does she do that?"

Hugh gently takes his chin in one hand, the hum of the regen making his skin tingle.

"Do what?"

"Know exactly what we've been doing."

The regen pauses.

"Sweetheart, what are we _usually_ doing when we go sit on the swing and no one else is there?"

"...true."

"Also," Hugh gives him a mischievous look, "my grandfather had a beard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty minute writing spree!


	198. Specific

Paul Stamets is an aggressive cuddler.

_Okay, _Hugh thinks, _maybe aggressive isn’t quite the right word.   
_

’Aggressive’ brings to mind overbearing force, something that makes others retreat as it takes what it wants, inconsiderate of others. Paul is none of those in their relationship, for the most part. While he can be inconsiderate, it’s never deliberately so, and he’s always apologetic when Hugh points it out. Hugh’s never felt the need to draw back either, only ever overwhelmed in the best possible ways.

’Needy’ describes him sometimes, when he’s suddenly desperate for Hugh’s skin on his, twining their limbs together and generally turning into a very bony-kneed octopus. That’s not quite it either though.

Hugh’s still searching for the right word fifteen years in, one that encompasses the way Paul uses his whole body to cuddle. Everything angles towards Hugh, body language shouting _I’m yours _and _mine. _Paul burrows into his side, making soft sounds of disquiet until, at last, he sighs in satisfaction. He radiates contentment then, cheek pillowed on Hugh’s shoulder and hand splayed over his heart.

It’s possible that he’ll never find a term that fits completely, but that’s very on-brand for Paul. There’s no neatly labeling him, impossible to reduce him to a simple description. He’s just...Paul, and that’s more than enough for as many lives as Hugh has to share with him.

Paul Stamets is Hugh’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m trying to catch up on three stories at once which all have vastly different tones. The gear shift between the tense menace of Survival, playful smut for Seven Days on Risa, and profound love after angst in When Sorrow Turns To Joy is proving to be more of a challenge than I thought it would. It’s hard to keep all the Pauls and Hughs separate where they’re running around in my head, especially when all six of them like to get into trouble. Sigh.
> 
> Thank you for your support and patience!


	199. Stain

"Tilly?" 

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right? You seem a bit...jumpy."

"What? I mean, no, Commander, not at all. Nothing's wrong, why would there be?"

"...okaaay."

Paul frowns as she darts up a ladder into a Jefferies Tube, but there's not much else he can do.

_Tilly seems twitchier than usual this afternoon_, he thinks, _haven't seen her like this in a while._

She spends most of the next hour after emerging from the Jefferies Tube alternately paying attention to the calculations on her console and stealing furtive glances but avoiding making eye contact with him when she looks up. He's really not sure what it could be; Tilly was fine this morning as far as he could tell, but he had been under the condenser in the cultivation bay for most of the day and might have missed something. Whatever it is is affecting Harrington too, a smirk playing about her lips. It all started after lunch, which leads him to wonder if he missed some sort of inside joke. Paul of a year ago certainly wouldn't have unbent enough to wonder, but he finds himself feeling a little left out if that's the case. 

Just in case, he surreptitiously checks his reflection in the transparent wall as he passes the spore cube - his hair is in order, he hasn't suddenly broken out in hives - yet nothing seems amiss visually other than a few crumbs that he dusts off. Shaking his head, he writes it off when Adira arrives and acts normally as they ever do when they arrive, chattering to Gray about a phase discriminator. 

It isn't until Hugh stops in during a break to say hi that Paul finally gets a clue. 

"I enjoyed lunch," Hugh smiles, "see you later."

Hugh sees himself out with an absolutely-not-unprofessional squeeze to Paul's bicep and a wave to everyone else. He doesn't say anything, but his raised eyebrow speaks volumes when Paul turns back to his console and realizes all three people still in the room are staring at him.

"Okay, _what?"_

Adira's eyes skate sideways at Tilly, who suddenly finds her PADD super engrossing as she steps over Harrington who's sitting on the floor adjusting the drive safeguards and snickering audibly. Sighing, Paul picks the person most likely to give him a direct answer because they've had the least amount of life experience dissembling.

"Adira."

"...yes?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No?"

"That's about as believable as you telling Hugh you only 'sort of' sprained your wrist last week with Rhys."

Their head jerks sideways a little, a sign he's come to recognize as Gray getting their attention, and he impatiently waits for them to finish. Adira squirms for a few seconds, then ultimately throws Tilly under the transport.

"...nope. I'm not- this so isn't my fault. Tilly," they make a complex gesture that resembles a squirrel dashing up a tree, "you can...yeah."

"Hmm? What?"

Paul doesn't buy Tilly's innocent look either.

"Tilly-"

"Oh, I think Reno wanted me to- I'll just be..."

She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the door, but Paul dusts off his best withering glare and she freezes. Harrington, immune to the Stamets stare since Deneva, sets down her coupler and gives up any pretense of working to watch the free entertainment.

"Tilly."

"It's nothing, Commander."

Her eyes keep darting somewhere under his chin. Paul resists the urge to bring a hand up to the side of his neck, where Hugh's teethmarks are hidden under his collar (Hugh's been possessive lately, and he's not complaining). That's the only thing he can think of, but he'd checked this morning and they shouldn't be visible at all. 

"Harrington," he lets loose some of the annoyance on the one person who won't take it personally, "is there something I should be worried about?"

"There's always something you're worried about, Stamets," Harrington hits the metaphorical tennis ball back over the net neatly, "nothing new."

"What's with the staring when Hugh was here?"

'Doctor Culber' wasn't even anywhere near the tip of his tongue, and he makes a mental note to pay attention to how often he uses Hugh's name in conversation. Then again, it feels faintly ridiculous to try to pretend some sort of professional distance when these three know better.

Time to try a different tactic.

"I didn't think he was your type."

Harrington seems even more amused, Adira is smiling too widely to be natural, and Tilly coughs.

"Did he put you all up to something?"

"No."

"That would be weird."

Paul sighs, tempted to just go back to work and wait for someone to explain. 

"We weren't doing anything, so...?"

Two expressions of disbelief, and Adira is suddenly engrossed in the nearest console. Harrington glances at them, who in turn looks at Tilly again, apparently electing her to...well, Paul's not sure, but he'd really like to know.

"Err, it's great that you're getting- wait, that didn't come out right...I mean, we're happy that you're ummm happy. Yeah! We are, really."

Tilly sounds sincere, if rushed.

"...but?" Paul prompts.

She points a finger vaguely at her own collarbone. When no additional explanation seems forthcoming, Paul sighs again.

"Computer, mirror."

His own reflection springs to life, peering back at him with a look of annoyance. Nothing seems out of place other than his frown, except-

_Huh._

There's a whitish stain on the right side of his collar beneath his chin. He remembers Hugh laughing as the tomato tumbled off his fork, smearing dressing over his chin, then quickly reaching out and swiping his thumb over the mess and licking it clean. The playful gesture made him smile, but he hadn't thought twice about it after using his napkin to clean up the rest.

"Computer, cancel mirror."

"Lunch must have been good," Harrington smirks.

He blinks, one hand on his hip and the other paused halfway raised to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Why does everyone always assume that Hugh and I are having a quickie at lunch?"

"...I don't know why we'd think that," Harrington mutters just a tad too loud to be under her breath, "no idea at all."

"In the middle of the afternoon sometimes too," Tilly adds.

"Ewww."

He's choosing to take Adira's grossed out face as the usual adolescent disinterest in adults having sex than anything personal.

Probably.

"It's salad dressing."

His declaration is met with relief (Adira), skepticism (Harrington), and confusion (Tilly).

"Suuure."

Generally, Paul doesn't regret bringing his team from Deneva with him, but in this particular instance he could do without the knowing smile. 

"It is."

Harrington shrugs in a way that says she's unconvinced, but picks up her coupler again and turns back to the drive control panel. Tilly says something about checking the humidity levels in the cultivation bay, and Adira makes a hasty exit.

Paul facepalms, then picks up his PADD to message Hugh.

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] So._

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Hmm?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Why didn't you tell me I missed some of the dressing on my collar?_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I thought you got it all. Why?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGER] Everyone's head is in the gutter today. _

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] ??_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Oh. **laughing emoji**_

_[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Did you tell them what happened after that?_

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Of course not._

_[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's a good thing your uniform is white._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for Valentine's Day :) 
> 
> I can't believe chapter 200 is next! There are a few partially finished stories waiting - any type in particular you'd like to see?


	200. Starved, Part Three (Conclusion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows on Chapters 185 & 187 ("Starved") - Paul's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt and comfort as requested from folks - hoping this fits the bill.

Hugh always gives Paul his full attention, love and affection and desire in his eyes as they kiss. When Hugh cradles his face between his palms, the entire universe around them shrinks down to the beautiful, gentle, kind man he’s so lucky to have as his partner. He’s safe, protected from everything including his own insecurities with Hugh’s arms around him. 

One of Paul’s less-than-loved former collaborators had once sneeringly commented after witnessing a farewell that Hugh’s habit of using both hands as well as his lips was a dominating attempt to control him. After he’d responded to that comment with an icy glare, Paul had locked himself in his private lab and fumed. Hugh had only been able to spend thirty two minutes while his ship was in orbit for a supply transfer, and he’d wondered if he should even burden his partner with the complaint or simply deal with it himself. In the end it hadn’t mattered, as he was back in Hugh’s arms an hour later while the ship spent three days in orbit repairing a faulty warp plasma system. He'd been incensed enough that, with minimal explanation, Hugh let Paul take him right up against the door in his lab, their pleasure loud enough to be heard in the main bay with no doubt as to who was being "dominated" (knowing what Hugh's return would mean, Straal had wisely dragged the others out for a long lunch, leaving just one person present to overhear).

That had been a very good three days.

The first time Hugh lays his hand on Paul’s arm during their first real date, eyes sparkling in the candlelight and lips curved into a sweet smile, he loses the ability to speak. There's no desire to cringe away, to recoil as he occasionally does with others whose touch felt wrong. Just the weight of his hand, fingers warm, setting the bare skin under them on fire.

It scares him at first, the need burning under his skin, the drive to be as close to Hugh as physically possible, to rub their bodies together in a non-erotic fashion just to feel him. Hugh’s touch makes him feel desired. Makes him feel seen. His hand is steady and strong under Paul’s fingers, his skin warm. When he’s with Hugh, Paul feels _right._

There’s also a definite sense of sexual hunger, but that’s even stronger because of how he feels about Hugh. Sex and intimacy never seemed to live up to their hype before; it was awkward and messy, and he was extremely self-conscious about his tendency to be noisy while also wondering if he was doing things right. He'd never been completely comfortable, never allowed himself to let go and trust that his bed partner would take care of him. It was just easier to avoid the situation altogether than be disappointed yet again. Hugh makes it all different. He touches Paul’s body with reverent desire, worshipping him with kisses and caresses as he stimulates every point to bring him pleasure. His touch is so much more than carnal.

Hugh never calls him high maintenance, never barely contains annoyance or pulls away when Paul touches him, never makes him feel like he’s anything but delighted by his lover’s newly-understood need for physical affection. Never does any of those things that had told Paul well enough in past relationships that he wasn't really what the other person desired. Now, he feels wanted, loved, cherished, protected. Hugh's touch is water to a part of him that he hadn't realized was withering away of thirst until he was given this boundless libation.

After Hugh dies, Paul simply shuts down in his grief. He can't feel, _refuses_ to feel, without him by his side to share it with. The emptiness of their bed consumes him in cold isolation, unable to be warm again under three extra blankets as he clutches Hugh’s pillow and weeps at its fading scent. He wakes and dresses and carries out his duties, but emotion is a muted thing at best. Small bits of pride and affection for Tilly, annoyance and satisfaction verbally sparring with Reno. Touching anyone else feels completely wrong, lacking in depth, and he finds himself carefully avoiding the reminder that the other half of his heart is gone by returning to physically distancing himself from everyone (except Tilly, who steamrolls his attempts to be distant and lets him cry on her shoulder). 

So alone.

When he finds Hugh alive in the network, the first moment their fingers touch cracks open the wall around his heart. He won't - can't - let go even as Tracy orders them beamed to the medbay, cradling him in his arms and kissing Hugh's cheek and temple because he still seems too shocked to properly return a kiss on the lips. The laughter and tears come, and he revels in their intensity. Hugh is alive, warm under his hands, thawing the ice flowing in his veins. He's going to bring him home, take him to bed and wrap himself around this miracle, this second chance.

Losing him a second time feels worse than the first, to see him alive and seemingly well. Without Paul. Once Hugh returns to duty, he bitterly envies the patients who receive his professional touch, his hand on their arm and his smile. There's no ice this time, just a complete emptiness inside. He aches to reach out, has to clench his fingers together the few occasions they do talk because his body still refuses to understand that Hugh is no longer his to touch.

He expects to take that loss to the future, to be left with only memories of love. Paul tells himself that it's fourteen years more than many other people ever get, but it's hollow comfort. 

Hugh’s hand on his temple as he wakes in the medbay sets his nerves alight. His smile and sarcasm wash over Paul like sunshine, like emerging from darkness. His kiss makes Paul’s entire body sing.

He’s too joyful to be embarrassed when he starts to cry the first time he holds Hugh properly after he's dragged out of the Jefferies Tube and endures a lecture before being stuffed back into the cellular regeneration chamber. Hugh pulls up a chair and sits by his side for hours, stroking his hair as they speak quietly. His lips are soft and sweet, Hugh filling his senses. 

They take things slow, but re-establishing contact feels like Paul is suddenly alive again, the gray haze he’s wandered through lifted and the world once more in color. Holding hands, hugging, all of the things he'd taken for granted are now precious and priceless. Even feeling the heat of Hugh's knee pressed to his as they sit side by side in the mess hall becomes something to be celebrated.

Waking up beside him is indescribably wonderful, Hugh sharing the pillow and half on top of him. Paul thinks he could drown in it, the sense of rightness anchoring him to his own body just as much as the weight of Hugh's leg thrown over his hips. He lacks the words to express the overwhelming sense of need, of love consuming him, so he lets his actions speak. Still, they're not enough. Hugh doesn't question him though, doesn't once raise an objection, just opens his arms or puts down his PADD and lets Paul snuggle as often as he wants. He pets his hair, rubs his back, gives him kiss after kiss. 

Making love again for the first time, their bodies joined intimately, is overwhelming. He needs to feel Hugh everywhere on him, inside of him so deeply he never wants him to leave again. The preparation is tender as ever it was, but he almost wants the discomfort, the burning stretch to sear into his senses that this is real. He’s held down against the sheets, safe under his weight and his lips and hands and love. Safe to be himself. 

Paul knows he’s being clingy, but Hugh doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he holds Paul closer, strokes his hair and nuzzles his cheek. He doesn’t complain when Paul climbs into his lap while they’re reading on the couch, when he pulls him to bed and strips them both naked to wind their limbs together. When he doesn’t initiate sex, but can’t stop kissing and nuzzling and running his hands over Hugh’s body, using his cheek and nose to re-map familiar peaks and valleys. 

Prior Paul wanted to spend time with Hugh, but it wasn't the all-consuming _need_ he has now. Hugh is his balm against the raw, barely-healed wounds as he pieces himself back together. He says he needs Paul just as much as Paul needs him, that he isn't taking anything that's not freely given. After everything, he's slowly learning to believe it. 

Paul's heart is so full now as their fingertips brush over the table during dinner, the tiny bit of contact speaking more than words ever could between them.

Speaking of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a different flavor than the first and second, which I'm attributing to the switch in perspectives. Hugh comes from a place of deep calm, of understanding care versus Paul's brain where thoughts are constantly flying and only coming to realize things about himself once he has Hugh in his life.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!


	201. Somnolent

It's 0400 and Paul would much rather be asleep, but his bladder has other ideas. Grumbling, he climbs over Hugh (because why get out of bed on his side only to walk around it?), who twitches and makes a vaguely displeased noise, and opens his eyes just enough to not trip over anything on his way to the bathroom. 

On the way back, he notices Adira's jacket tossed carelessly on the floor. 

_Must have forgotten it when they left last night. _

He wonders if he or Hugh ought to talk to them about keeping their teenage clutter to their own quarters? At least Paul is used to Hugh's mess and can navigate around his piles of laundry and boots automatically.

_You're going to sound like their parent at this rate. _

Well.

_Isn't it Hugh's turn?_

With a groan, he picks up the garment and sets it on a chair, then gets back into bed. Hugh's sprawled in the middle of the sheets, and after a couple of failed attempts to move his rather solid unconscious body, Paul gives in and just settles down on top of him. 

Morning is on its way too soon, and he's not in the mood to deal with it without at least four more hours of sleep than he's going to get or a lot of caffeine.

_Coffee. Definitely coffee._

Hugh's not very squishy, but he's definitely warm and comfortable, and Paul's snoring less than a minute later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little domestic / Space Dad fluff :)


	202. Standpoint

Paul feels safe beneath Hugh. 

His body is as much a shield between Paul and the universe as it’s working to bring him pleasure. 

He knows that Hugh derives immense satisfaction from fulfilling Paul’s desires, delight tangible in the slippery grasp of his fingers in Paul’s hair as Hugh’s love overwhelms him.

****

Hugh feels safe with Paul beneath him.

His embrace wraps Hugh in so much more than just his arms, a gift of shelter offered and entrusted to Hugh alone. 

He knows that Paul’s vulnerability is something he wishes that he had so profound a thing to give in return, tries to show him with every touch that the love shining in Paul’s eyes is precious beyond measure in his heart.


	203. Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue only.

"Hugh?"

"Mmm?"

"I'd like my arm back, please."

"Nah. It's mine now."

"Are you planning to lay on it all day?"

"Mmhmm."

"You know, as a doctor I'd think you'd be worried about the complications from loss of circulation on the continued welfare of said arm?"

"Hmm."

"...are you getting hard?"

"Looks like it."

"Okaaaay..."

"You're really hot when you get all huffy and try to science your way out of things."

"I am not _huffy- _what's that look?"

"Are you going to keep pretending to be mad about it, or are you going to take your clothes off and do something about it?"

"I don't know, that sounds like a lot of work."

"Well. It's either that or you don't get to complain about having to change your pants."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"Oh, we're getting there."

"If you want me to get undressed, I need my arm back."

"Are we back to that again?"

"Yes."

"If I let you up, are you going to try and escape?"

"Hugh, we're too old to be having sex on the couch."

"No we're not."

"Wouldn't you rather use the bed?"

"...yeah. All right. First one undressed gets to bottom?"

"Mmm- wait, that's not fair! My arm is numb, that's cheating...Hugh!"

"You're really cute when you pout."

"Hmph."

"C'mon babe, don't you want some of this?"

"Stop being so hot, I'm trying to be annoyed."

"Please?"

"...argh."

"Tell you what. You get undressed and fuck me, and if you can last five minutes we can switch?"

"Are you really trying to make a deal for sex?"

"If you're not interested, you can just stay there and watch me...pleasure myself."

"What- no, no I'm interested, see?"

"Mmm. Bring that over here then."

"That's not fair though, you know I can't when you..."

"Paul Stamets backing down from a challenge?"

"Of course not."

"Well, you could- ohhhh. Mmmm."

"Like that?"

"I- unnhhh. Yes. Compu- computer. Set a tuh...timer. Five minutes."

** _Acknowledged._ **

"Seriously?"

"It's - hnnghhh - a win-win, babe."

"Fuck."

"Ideally, yes."

"Are you...mmmm...still talking?"

"Four minutes ahh...and thirty seh- seconds. Oh! Ohhh...I- right there..."

"More?"

"...fuck me."

"That's what. I'm. Doing."

"Shut up and uhhh shut u- ohh. Kiss me."

"With pleasure."

"...oh sweetheart, the pleas- ahhh, pleasure's all mine."

"We'll see about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first eight lines demanded more.


	204. Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh's pajama shirt goes missing.

Hugh doesn't linger in the shower, although he does spend a couple of minutes with the water turned up as hot as possible beating down on his back to take care of the tension from a day of surgeries. He's eager to finish getting ready for bed and curl up next to Paul for some snuggles before falling asleep, only mildly disappointed that his partner had already showered because he's not the best company when he can't raise his arms above shoulder height. 

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he sighs and brushes his teeth, going about the usual motions of his bedtime routine. It's only when he reaches for the pajamas he left on the counter that he realizes the shirt is missing, and Hugh frowns.

"Babe?"

"...hmmm?"

Hugh leans past the doorway, Paul's distracted hum drawing a smile from him when he sees where his shirt has gotten off to. The midnight blue silk is such a gorgeous contrast to Paul's complexion, the long sleeves pushed up his forearms and the unbuttoned front offering tantalizing glimpses of freckled skin. 

"Never mind."

"Mmm."

Paul's frowning at something on his PADD, and Hugh shakes his head at himself for not noticing what he was wearing when he came home, chalking it up to exhaustion. Hugh steps into the pants, haphazardly tosses the towel across the bar - Paul can't complain when it's not on the floor - and pads out across the room. The cooler air chills his still-damp skin, and he slides under the duvet with a content sigh when he makes contact with the body-warmed sheets, settling on his side. A hand lands on his head, smoothing back his hair before scratching gently at the back of his neck and shoulders. Paul's attention is still on the PADD, but his fingers move on automatic to seek out all of the usual points of tension and soothe them with caresses as Hugh's eyes drop half-closed.

Ten minutes later, Hugh is drifting on the edge of consciousness when he feels Paul shift to set the PADD down on his nightstand. He doesn't order the lights off though, just leans over to kiss Hugh's cheek and stretches before picking up his personal PADD and thumbing it on. Hugh decides he's perfectly happy to fall asleep like this, listening to Paul breathe and occasionally remembering to rub Hugh's shoulder.

Something wakes him an indeterminate amount of time later, possibly Paul retrieving his hand. 

_Mmm._

The PADD is angled towards him, and Hugh idly glances at the contents, expecting to find his partner reading some scientific paper or other. Instead, he sees the header of a personal communication at the top of the screen. Curiosity wars with respect, and as usual, respect wins out as Hugh closes his eyes and doesn't try to read its contents. He's about to give in to sleep again when he notices a change in Paul's breathing and he shifts against the mattress, scooting further under the covers. A few moments later, he shifts again, and Hugh wrinkles his nose.

_Trying to sleep here, hmph._

His grumpy affection squeaks to a halt when he hears a soft moan. 

_...what?_

Opening his eyes again, he's treated to the sight of Paul in profile, lips parted as he stares at the screen. It's hard to tell in the low lighting, but his cheeks look a little flushed as he squirms. A rustle of fabric gets Hugh's attention, drawing his eyes down to where the covers are moving in a distinctive rhythm.

_Ahh._

They both still enjoy the company of their own hand on occasion, usually when the other has a mismatched shift or isn't in the mood. It's certainly not something Hugh begrudges his love, although he would have expected Paul to proposition him when he got into bed. Then again, he'd made it clear how tired he was, and Paul was nothing if not considerate when it came to anything related to sex. 

Hugh's not above enjoying the free show though, even if arousal is slow to ignite in his own stomach. Intrigued, he watches the way Paul's eyelashes flutter as his breathing speeds up, and can't help but notice his own name attached to the message when the PADD sags still further towards Paul's chin. Propriety satisfied since it's clearly nothing he hasn't seen before, Hugh squints to make out the header information - a transcript of an audio message sometime before Discovery launched - and tries to remember what he might have sent to elicit this kind of reaction.

_Granted, you've found Paul masturbating when you were on comms talking about nothing in particular because he said the sound of your voice made him horny, _he thinks with amusement, _could just be me complaining about osteoregenerators._

Another moan, this one a little louder.

_Although I can’t imagine a transcript of that being ideal jerk-off material._

Moving slowly, Hugh rolls his face out of the pillow just enough to see the screen with both eyes. Paul seems to have a section on loop, and he waits for the scrolling text to come into proper focus. 

> _miss you, sweetheart._
> 
> _Soon, right? Ugh. It feels like we've been doing this forever. I'd rather be doing **you** forever. Preferably uninterrupted for the rest of, oh, say the next five years? Yeah, that sounds good. Just you, me, and a bed. I'll even skip the bed if we have to._
> 
> _Fuck. Just thinking about that makes me hard. I'm lying here with your shirt on the pillow next to me, it smells so good sweetheart, mmm... Love the way you smell right out of the shower, when you're all clean and I can't wait to get you dirty again._
> 
> _I wish you could see it, I'm leaking everywhere, and it's all your fault. Playing with myself, wishing it was your hand. Or your mouth, fuck, the way you look at me when you're sucking me... you know what that does to me when you try to look so innocent with a mouth full of my cock and humping the sheets. _
> 
> _Feel so **empty**, love. Want you bouncing on my cock, but want to be fucked more. _ _Mmm... yeah. I'm fingering myself now, can you hear that? Wish it was your hands, love your hands, love everything about you. Fuck, I can't get deep enough, need you. _
> 
> _You took my vibrator, you know? I can't find it anywhere, and you're in for it when I get my hands on you again. Of course you know, I bet you did- ahh, did it on purpose just to make me even hotter for you. Gonna- fuck...gonna tie you to the bed and **ride** you until you're begging me to come. Jerk myself off in front of you, until you get that look, when you're starving for me...I love that. I love that. No one ever makes me feel as wanted as you do when you're looking at me like that. _

The lazy arousal in his hips sharpens, and he checks that Paul is still pre-occupied with the text while his fingers creep across the sheet. He pauses when he can feel the heat of Paul's body on the backs of his fingers, a hairsbreadth from making contact.

_Ready or not, here I come. _

_You do seem awfully ready though._

Grinning, he pushes up on his elbow at the same time as his hand catches Paul's wrist.

_Gotcha._

"Am I invited to this party?"

Paul nearly drops the PADD on his own nose in surprise, but recovers quickly enough.

"I thought you were asleep."

His voice is languorous, husky, and Hugh waits for him to set the PADD down before moving forward to claim a kiss. 

"Mmm. I was."

"Sorry."

Paul sounds genuinely apologetic, and Hugh dismisses it with another kiss to the end of his nose.

"Don't be. Did you want to continue, or can I help?"

His head turns on the pillow, static forming a blond halo of his tangled hair. Paul's lips are smiling, but more than that, his eyes are sleepy with lustful love.

"Oh definitely help, if you don't mind."

"Mmm."

Hugh releases Paul's wrist, nudging his hand out of the way to take over. Paul was most of the way there already, and he doesn't see any point in drawing it out too much further as his erection throbs against Hugh's palm when he speeds up his strokes.

"Were you enjoying my old message?" he murmurs into Paul's ear.

"...mmhmm."

"I ended up getting frustrated and synthesized a new toy in the middle of it, didn't I?"

Paul licks his lips, nodding with a whimper. Hugh adds a twist over the tip on every upstroke, thumb working the sensitive spot under the head.

"How many times have you gotten off listening to me talk about fucking myself?"

”I-“

Whatever Paul's reply is going to be vanishes as he kicks down the covers just enough to avoid spilling on them as he comes with a cry. Hugh smiles in satisfaction, working him through it with slow caresses until Paul shivers and he stills his hand. Then he glances down and chuckles.

"...huh?"

"You're not wearing any pants."

"Ahh. You've caught on to my evil plan," Paul gives him a sated wink, "oops."

Hugh laughs again, carefully wiping up the mess with his hand before climbing out of bed and heading into the bathroom to rinse off. 

"Were you planning a seduction," he asks as he's slipping back under the sheets, "or something else?"

Paul's still wearing the unbuttoned pajama shirt, which he somehow miraculously managed to avoid getting dirty, and he tugs Hugh closer by the waist.

"No more than usual, dear doctor."

A few slow, soft kisses. Paul's probably going to fall asleep soon, and Hugh nuzzles at his cheek.

"I like seeing you wearing my clothes."

"I know."

Yawning, Paul gropes over Hugh's hip, but he stops him with a gentle hand.

"You can return the favor in the morning, sweetheart."

Paul orders the lights off, and leans over to give Hugh a proper goodnight kiss before nudging him to roll over and fitting himself against his back. 

“You sure?”

Hugh nods, enjoying the contrast between the smooth silk and Paul's slightly sweaty skin.

"Mmhmm. Love you."

"Love you too."

More kisses scattered over the back of his neck and shoulders as they settle in comfortably.

_I still owe him payback for the vibrator, _Hugh muses sleepily, _have to think up something appropriate. _

"Goodnight, Hugh."

"Night sweetheart."


	205. Surmise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May be read as a companion piece to Chapters 191 and 192 ("Sudden" and "Sudden, Part Two") or a standalone.

T'Vala is most certainly not intending to, as humans say, eavesdrop. Her Vulcan hearing is more acute, yes, but she's principled enough to only use it for purposes which are blameless of assigned impropriety. It does not, however, operate well through duranium, otherwise she would not have accidentally intruded on any number of "private" moments throughout the years - arguments between colleagues, personal conversations, and more than a statistically probable number of occasions of witnessing her friend Hugh and Paul...coupling.

There's nothing distasteful in the act itself, a logical means of affirming the bond between mates, and they're quite aesthetically pleasing in contrasting complexions. T'Vala would be fascinated to observe more, but - as with many strange human customs - they appear to be more unsettled by her presence than she is in discovering them engaged in such matters. She would rather save her friend the embarrassment, and so politely averts her eyes from areas that most bipedal species consider worthy of a privacy taboo and sees herself out. 

_One would think, _she muses, _that were they so averse to being discovered while indisposed, they might remember to engage the door locks._

Humans are indeed strange.

She's seen all manner of relationships between humans, but Hugh and Paul appear to be far more tactile than others. For a species of touch-telepaths, Vulcan physical contact is generally governed by principles of ritual or the slightest contact of fingers between committed individuals. Hugh and Paul, however, seem to use it as both a means of silent communication as well as a need she senses that they be close together. T'Vala suspects it has something to do with prolonged physical separations, having witnessed Hugh request hugs from Tracy on occasions when he seems to be particularly bereft. Had he consulted her, she would have offered her opinion that touch between friends, while offered with understanding, would not have the same effect as with one's mate. Tracy attempts to explain it to her, but that too seems insufficient.

Regardless of her thoughts on human behavior as a whole and for her friends in particular, T'Vala is most displeased to overhear a conversation held by two ensigns three tables down while in the cafeteria, attempting to compose a communication to her parents after Paul and Hugh have departed from their afternoon meal with her. As a general rule, she's able to ignore most distractions, but hearing one of the ensigns say "Hugh Culber" in a peculiar tone of voice immediately attracts her attention. She mentally searches through her list matching emotional states to tone and expression for various species, and comes to the conclusion that it has elements of both "lust" and "envy". Setting down her PADD, she stares into her tea and narrows in on the conversation.

"...he's so hot."

"Yeah. Have you seen his ass when he bends over? I think he wears his uniforms a size too small just to show off."

"Forgot his ass," one of them scoffs while gesturing with a fork, "that chest. Those arms!"

"He's so _nice_ all the time too. I bet he's a freak in bed."

The conclusion follows no logical argument, and T'Vala wonders how they graduated the Academy with such a failure to understand logical fallacies.

"Mmm."

"Yeah."

"We're not likely to find out though."

"Oh?"

"Did you see that guy he was with?"

"What, the science geek? The blond?"

"Uh huh. His boyfriend."

"Seriously? He spent the whole time on his PADD though, you sure about that?"

"Yeah, but they were eye-fucking at breakfast."

"Ehhh. What's he see in that guy? He's so skinny and boring. Even the Vulcan seems more interesting."

One eyebrow rises as she considers making them aware of the fact that she can hear them, but decides there's nothing illogical about collecting as much information as possible while they're speaking so loudly. 

"No idea. Can't be much fun in the sack either, not sure what Culber's getting out of it."

"Maybe he'll be willing to play once that guy leaves? Could give him what he's been missing out on."

"Oh, now _there's _an idea. Think he would though?"

"Hah, someone that pretty? He's probably spreading it around, can't imagine he's got a shortage of offers."

"Fifty credits if you fuck him first?"

"A hundred."

"I-"

T'Vala's heard enough and stands abruptly, pushing her chair back and tucking her PADD under her arm. She brings her tray back to the synthesizer for recycling, then approaches the table and stops a polite two feet away.

"Ensigns."

"...uhh, hi Doctor?"

They both appear to be quite young, and while youth is an excuse for vulgar behavior in many species, it's generally not something that those in Starfleet descend to.

"You are expressing sexual interest in my colleague, Doctor Culber."

They exchange a look, blinking at each other with blank expressions.

"Furthermore," she continues, "while it is most inappropriate to speak of a fellow officer such, particularly in a public setting, I would strongly dissuade you from attempting to separate him from his partner."

"Sorry?"

She folds her hands behind her back and stares until he looks down at the table.

"I am merely attempting to make you aware of the fact that your intentions to intrude upon a bonded relationship have less than a point-three percent chance of success, and that Doctor Pollard would not take kindly to your actions."

"Umm. Is that a threat, Doctor? Planning to tell Culber?"

"Indeed it is not. It is a statement of fact, one which I would not recommend you test."

Warning delivered, T'Vala nods at them and continues on her way out of the cafeteria. Across the commons, she catches sight of Hugh with his arm around Paul's waist as they wander amidst the landscaped garden. They stop at the foot of a tree, Paul leaning over to point at what is most likely fungal growth around the roots, and there's no mistaking the way Hugh is looking at him. 

_Perhaps point-three percent is an incorrect prediction which is too optimistically weighted towards success of any third party._

_It may be close enough in terms of significant figures to approximate as zero._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing T'Vala is way too much fun.


	206. Surreptitious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment with just one witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title prompt by the amazing Finnegancat.

Side by side they lie, propped up amidst the pillows at the headboard, each reading in silence.

No words are spoken, save an occasional thoughtful hum or muttered comment.

No words are needed as their fingers twine together loosely on the covers between them, content in companionship.

A hand lifts the other, a kiss pressed to the knuckles before being set down gently again, thumb hooked over pinky.

Two smiles alike in soft joy flit across their lips, though neither looks up from his text.

The cycle repeats, over and over, a nuzzle to the wrist, a fingertip idly stroking an open palm.

Quiet certainty fills the air between them with warmth, surrounds them in its peace.

_This, _Adira thinks while watching from their place curled up under a blanket on the couch, _is love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title - “Joy in 135 Words”


	207. Stupidly (In Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh and Tracy have a little chat.

_“That, without a doubt, is the **stupidest** smile I’ve ever seen.”_

”Oh?”

_”Yes.”_

“Well. I am _stupidly_ in love, Trace.”

_”So it seems.”_

”...what, no lecture on jumping in too fast or his irredeemable qualities?”

_“As if I’ve ever been able to stop you from falling in love.”_

”Trace?”

_”Hugh.”_

”I don’t know that I’ve ever really been in love before. Not like this.”

_”No, I don’t think so either.”_

”But?”

_”There isn’t one this time.”_

”...what?”

_”Your Paul has plenty of irredeemable qualities, but he’s got one in particular that makes up for all of them, from what I can see.”_

”Trace?”

_”He loves you just as much.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven’t abandoned my other stories...just having a lull in my editing groove right now. Trying to climb out of it with snippets here until I feel up to tackling the rest.


	208. Sartorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Hugh change uniforms.

“I’m going to miss this.”

The quiet statement is nearly lost under the sound of Paul's boots on the deck. Hugh pauses with his hands unfastening his collar, turning to look at his partner.

“What’s that, love?”

He’s not expecting the wistful sadness on Paul’s face as he looks Hugh up and down. There’s no hint of playfulness or desire, but he can almost feel his eyes traveling over the contours of his body. Paul crosses the short distance between them, hands settling on his waist.

”I always loved how you look in uniform.”

Hugh runs his palms over Paul’s chest, feeling the rough braid and tracing each seam.

”I’ll still be in uniform,” he reminds him gently.

”Not the same.”

He glances over at their new uniforms laid out on the bed, freshly replicated and waiting.

“Well, it’s not like they weren’t upgrading uniforms back then either.”

”Those were colorful at least. These are so...” Paul wrinkles his nose as he searches for the right word, “bland.”

It’s true; the garments lack a certain aesthetic appeal in comparison to ones of the past. Their mostly muted color scheme fits this new future though, the clean gleaming white and grey of HQ on his mind, fading into the background the same way programmable matter appeared and vanished at will. The colors aren't the only difference though, and he catalogues them in his mind. Gone is the asymmetric collar point, replaced with a simple band and gorget plaque. The sleek, tight fitting jacket is now a tunic, loosely tailored and longer with division color a wide stripe down the front, and bio-sensors are synthesized as part of the fabric itself along with their commbadges, the array of tiny Starfleet deltas on their twenty-third century uniforms now superfluous design rather than useful. 

Paul gives him a lopsided smile but doesn't say anything else, just gently brushes Hugh's hands away where they've returned to the zipper and grips it between his own fingers, lowering it slowly. He shivers as Paul's palms slide over his skin when he eases the jacket from Hugh's shoulders. They linger there for a few breaths, warm and heavy, then fall away. Hugh returns the favor, unsnapping Paul's collar and drawing down the zipper. It reminds him for a moment of times he's found Paul working late, jacket open and sleeves pushed up his forearms. He glances at the smooth skin as it's revealed, blue-green veins visible and unmarred by the augments. 

_The new uniforms wouldn't have suited them anyway, no zip at the cuffs._

Pants are next, Paul dropping to crouch in front of Hugh and peel the fabric from his thighs. It could have been seductive, yet he's struck with the solemnity in his partner's expression. He and Paul enjoyed the ritual of undressing each other at the end of the day when they had the time, but this is different, almost reverent in a way as he guides Hugh to step out of the puddle of fabric and stands to let Hugh perform the same service for him. Hugh pauses, fingers smoothing over the hem of Paul's long-sleeved undershirt as a slight twitch of his wrists suggests he's reluctant to continue.

"Changing this?"

A sigh.

"...not for now," Paul eventually answers, shrugging a little, "no one's going to see it anyway."

There's no need for one under the new jackets, the fabric much better at thermoregulation and bypassing the need to decide whether to dress in layers. 

"Okay."

He drops his hands for Paul to skim his own undershirt off, leaving him standing in just his socks and the tight grey briefs he favors while in uniform.

_Underwear hasn't changed in the future, thankfully._

They turn their heads to look at the garments on the bed again, Paul looking thoughtful. He bends to kiss each of Hugh's hipbones, a sweet and very Paul-like gesture, then reaches for Hugh's pants. 

"Yeah?"

"Mmm."

Hugh sets his hand on Paul's shoulder, not needing it for balance but simply enjoying his closeness. He does have to let go to get Paul into his own pants, and he laughs quietly as he does up the fly.

“What?”

”Nine hundred years,” he chuckles again, “and we’re still using zippers.”

Paul's brows draw together.

”Good design that’s functional doesn’t need to be improved on very often. Programmable matter or not, a mechanical zipper is still practical.”

”Thank you, Doctor Stamets.”

The rest of the process is repeated in reverse, and they don't speak again until Paul snaps the gorget plaque into place at Hugh's throat.

”What’s that face for?”

He doesn't try to deny Hugh's question, frown readily apparent even as his voice is level.

”Collars are lower.”

”I thought you never liked them high anyway.”

"Got used to it."

"But?"

”Well...” Paul trails off, pointing at his own neck where the fading remains of a love bite sit, "pretty sure you can see this now."

Hugh smiles ruefully.

"Yeah. I suppose that means we'll have to remember to use the regen, is all. What?"

Paul's face falls.

"I like keeping them."

It's a simple statement, one of the countless that his love has made over the years and that never fail to tuck themselves away in his heart.

"I know."

He brushes a thumb over the love bite, humming in thought.

"Going to be a hard habit to break after this long," Hugh murmurs, wondering if his body in the throes of passion will remember to leave marks an inch lower to conceal them from view, "I might need to practice a little."

"Mmhmm. I suppose we'll manage. Not that Tilly and Harrington haven't been corrupting Adira about it, I swear they stare at my neck every time you and I have lunch together."

Hugh snorts, then takes a step back.

"Well. How does it look?"

He holds his arms out to the side, turning around slowly. Neither of them have activated the mirror, and he really does want Paul's opinion.

”It hides your ass,” Paul mutters, the seemingly lighthearted complaint nonetheless serious, "and it's harder to recognize medical now.”

Hugh raises an eyebrow, running his hand down the wide stripe of white.

"This is still pretty obvious."

“I looked up the uniform history, I can’t believe they kept doctors wearing blue. Seeing you all in white, it seemed...right.”

”As a doctor, or some sort of purity that I most definitely don’t have?”

It’s meant as a tease and accompanied with a roguish wink, but Paul shakes his head.

”You are though. And the white matched, all clean and bright and fair. You’re such a good person, Hugh, it felt like the uniform was just making it easier for everyone else to see it.”

Hugh ducks his head at Paul's matter-of-fact declaration, as if it's something universal that can't be denied, the same tone as Dr. Stamets reciting the basic laws of physics. What should have been a simple task of changing clothes has stumbled into something more profound, and he searches for the right words to respond. Paul's watching him, eyes full of conviction and tenderness, as he considers and discards things. 

Eventually, he settles on the one thing that they've always both understood.

"I love you."

The kiss that follows is gentle, close-mouthed and chaste.

"I love you too." 

He smooths his palm down Paul's front, easing away nonexistent wrinkles in the blue stripe. 

"Ready, Commander?"

Paul bends down to retrieve their new boots, passing Hugh's over silently. A few final tugs, commbadges set in place, and Paul nods at him before they leave their quarters. He doesn't reply until they're in the turbolift, hand-in-hand.

"As I'll ever be, dear doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write this since the finale, because what are those uniforms even? I really hope they're tailored just a little better for Season Four, because if they manage to make Wilson and Patrick Kwok-Choon look stocky, it's not a flattering cut for anyone. It looks a bit better on women because their busts break up the line and make the front hang differently, but...yeah. (I'm a costumer by hobby, and as someone who's sewed for the last thirty years...argh!)


	209. Skeptical

Hugh's old room is cozy and neat, but the narrow bed leaves much to be desired by way of two full grown men trying to share it. Paul's sweaty knees keep slipping on the edge, and he's tired of having to slow down to make sure he doesn't fall and injure them both (either sensitive parts or the remaining shreds of his dignity if they have to explain it to anyone). Groaning, he gives up trying to balance and sets one foot on the floor, the change in angle and leverage making both of their hips stutter.

"Oh god, harder," Hugh gasps, "right _there_ sweetheart, I-"

A bite to his shoulder, soothed with a hot tongue.

"Me too," Paul pants into the back of his neck, pushing Hugh's face further into the pillows to muffle his cries.

Most of Hugh's family are out enjoying a trip to the beach, which is the only reason why Paul and Hugh even considered indulging in some recreation of their own. When Aida had shooed them off the swing and herded her great-grandchildren out to the back deck to play and "let your tíos take a nap", Paul wasn't sure if he was more embarrassed by her knowing smile or grateful at the opportunity. He'd settled firmly on grateful though, as Hugh practically dragged him upstairs by the hand before the patio door even closed. They've been limited to sweet lovemaking at night after everyone's gone to sleep for the last week, and mutual handjobs and sucking each other off are wonderful but the allure of Hugh's body and more intimate pleasures are too much to resist any longer. 

Still, it wouldn't do to have them overheard through the open window. 

_Why didn't we close it?_

Even the thought of withdrawing long enough to do so seems impossible, so Paul just concentrates on keeping his own noises under minimal control. It's difficult when Hugh's writhing and moaning beneath him, the sight of his sweaty back and tense shoulders only adding to his arousal. The mattress is squeaking under them, and it joins with the pounding of Paul's pulse in his ears as he drives them both closer to the edge. When one hand detaches itself from where Hugh's gripping the sheet and disappears under his body, Paul has to close his eyes and bite his own tongue to hold back his impending orgasm. 

It's a lost cause, because Hugh stiffens seconds later with a triumphant shout and Paul is helpless to do anything but follow. His hips are still twitching involuntarily when Hugh's limbs seem to turn to jelly and they collapse in an undignified heap on the hopelessly tangled sheet.

"Mmphhhh."

Paul raises his head from Hugh's shoulder just far enough to make an inquisitive noise, wondering if he's too heavy.

"...s'fine," Hugh's voice is languid, sated and breathless, "stay."

"M'kay."

Desires satisfied, he rearranges them more or less straight on the bed rather than hanging off the edge, arms wrapped around Hugh's waist and very pleased that he hasn't softened enough to slip out yet. Hugh's hot and slick inside, small shivers running through him that cause Paul to answer with his own as they snuggle and enjoy the afterglow. All in all, it's a very satisfactory state of affairs, particularly since Hugh has his own bathroom and they won't have to cover themselves and sneak down the hall to clean up. 

They must have finished just in time, because he can hear the thud of the patio door downstairs and the sound of voices in the kitchen below. He's about to suggest they at least find a towel when there's the patter of feet on the staircase and an insistent knocking on the door.

"Tío Paul? Are you okay?"

Paul groans quietly. He adores Hugh's niece Nella, who seems to feel the same in return, but her timing could really use some work. Hugh seems to still be remembering how to operate his limbs when Paul rises and collects the blanket to toss over his naked sprawl, pulling on a robe as he crosses the room. He opens the door just enough to see Nella's face peering up at him, using his body to block the view beyond him.

"I'm awake."

He feigns a yawn for good measure, hearing Hugh slowly shifting on the bed.

"What were you doing?"

Nella's innocent question makes his cheeks burn, and he shuffles through possible responses in a panic.

"Umm..."

"You were yelling, and Abuela said not to bother you, but I thought you might be hurt?" 

_So much for keeping it down._

While he's sputtering, a hand lands on his shoulder and it nearly collides with Hugh's nose when he jumps in startlement. 

"Nellita."

Hugh's managed to pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt, hands miraculously clean, although Paul doesn't want to think about what the bed looks like right now.

"Tío Hugh?"

She's still watching them, a tiny frown forming.

"Sorry. Your uncle and I were...wrestling. He tickled me and we fell, but we're fine."

He really, really hopes Nella doesn't pick up on the scratchiness of Hugh's voice. After what feels like an interminable amount of staring that's probably only a few seconds, she finally nods.

"...okay," she narrows her eyes at them both, "but Abuela said we're not supposed to do that in the house, because we could break something."

"Ahh. Umm, maybe we won't tell her then?"

Hugh's side-eye clearly shouts _do something!_ at Paul.

"Nella," Paul clears his throat, "how about you head downstairs and put your shoes on, and then we can go for a walk and see if we can dig up any more mycelia to take a look?"

She bounces on her toes, face lighting up.

"Oh! Yes, please?"

Paul keeps a smile on his face as she turns for the stairs, but pauses at the top.

"Why are you wearing a robe in the middle of the afternoon?"

_Fuck._

"Err, I was going to umm, take a shower? Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right down."

Nella's expression doesn't change as she tilts her head to the side, considering. He can feel Hugh behind him, face pressed into his shoulder and shaking with laughter.

"Okay."

He waits until her footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs before closing the door and slumping against it.

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Hugh?"

"Hmm?"

Hugh looks up from where he's nuzzling the side of Paul's neck.

"Why are all of the women in your family so...intimidating?"

They both burst into giggles at Hugh's helpless shrug. 

"Shower?"

"Shower."


	210. Snuggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen years in, and insecurity can still rear its head. The solution? Communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat flimsy plot, but I wrote this one straight through.
> 
> Chapter title from the wonderful LadyRiona, I can't believe I haven't used it before!

"Are we getting...routine?"

It's only when he hears Paul's question that Hugh surfaces from the delightfully meditative calm to be found in pleasuring his partner with his mouth. There's an inexplicable satisfaction in knowing that nibbling just under the head makes Paul whimper so prettily, or just how much pressure to use when sucking to keep him from coming too soon, and Hugh enjoys it all.

Pushing up on an elbow, he lets Paul slip from between his lips.

"What's that?"

Paul's slumped against the headboard, legs splayed around Hugh's shoulders and one knee bent. The slight frown on his face belies the comfortable sprawl, and Hugh stops fondling his balls to fumble across the sheet for his hand.

"Umm."

The half-smile he gets is full of self-deprecation.

"Sweetheart?"

"Ignore me," he shakes his head, "it's nothing."

"It's not nothing if it distracted you in the middle of getting a blowjob," Hugh raises an eyebrow, "so spill."

The unintentional pun draws a chuckle, breaking the tension.

"Just, I was thinking. And I have absolutely no complaints whatsoever, but..."

"What?"

"We've only had sex here for the last two months."

Now it's Hugh's turn to frown.

"I distinctly remember riding you on the couch a few days ago, and I'm pretty sure I had my hand down your pants while we were brushing our teeth last night. So, it hasn't been just the bed."

Paul groans.

"Not explaining myself very well, am I? I meant, we've just been in our quarters, and it hasn't been any- that is...ugh."

Concern rising, Hugh climbs out from between his thighs and sits beside his love. 

"Am I missing something?"

"...I thought you might be?"

"Sweetheart, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Paul's chewing his lip, and he reaches over to gently wiggle it free, smoothing his thumb over the abused skin. He heaves a sigh, staring down at his knees and avoiding Hugh's glance. Though he itches to demand a response, Hugh knows he won't receive one if he pushes, and so he waits. Eventually, Paul stirs.

"I know you're disappointed I said no."

Hugh stares at him blankly, casting his mind back over the last few days and trying to recall any instance that could possibly have this effect. Paul had declined a third cup of coffee this morning, hadn't wanted pasta for lunch two days ago, turned down joining him and Detmer for a few rounds of Velocity, none of which ought to be serious. What could he-

_Oh._

He doesn't mean to, but the relief comes out as a laugh, and Paul recoils.

"Love," he catches Paul's cheek to keep him from turning his face away, "you thought I was mad about that?"

A nod.

"Because you said no to something I wanted to try, not in this bed?"

"Yeah."

"Sweetheart," Hugh's mirth settles, "it's a fantasy for a reason. They generally don't work out so well when they're not in your head."

"You always do mine, though. And they're even better, and I...I keep saying no to things you want to do."

It's true that Paul has yet to suggest (or be coaxed into sharing) anything that Hugh hasn't been up for once any concerns have been assuaged. Asking Hugh to 'doctor' him, rough and dominating games, experimenting with a new toy, all of it has been fun and occasionally silly. It's easiest to gift them to Paul for a special occasion (their tenth anniversary comes to mind, fucking Paul until he came untouched) because he doesn't like to ask, and Hugh's never minded that his lover isn't comfortable doing some of the things he's requested.

"It's not a balance sheet, you know. I'd much rather we both enjoyed ourselves than you doing something just because I think it could be exciting."

He's aiming for soothing, but Paul looks unconvinced.

"Still."

Deep down, he knows Paul knows this, but something has to be eating at him for him to fixate on that.

"Want to tell me what's actually bothering you?"

Paul frowns again, wrinkling his nose.

"I'm going to be fifty this year."

"...yes, and?"

"I want to keep you interested."

"I _am_ interested. Have been, since the day I met you, and I don't think that's going to go away no matter how old either of us is. I'm not...bored, or feeling like we're in a rut or whatever else that brain of yours is coming up with. I can't imagine things in this bed ever cooling down, at least until there's physical reason."

"That's it though," Paul grumbles, "what if I'm not keeping you...satisfied? I turned you down twice in the last week, what if-"

"You were exhausted last week, I don't expect you to stay awake just because I was in the mood. Last I checked, I still have two perfectly good hands and a drawer full of things to entertain myself with if you don't want to play."

"Hugh..."

"Paul," his use of his love's name gets his attention, "we could never have sex again - which I know _isn't _going to happen - and I'd still be happy with you. Remember what I told you when we started? That I'll love whatever it is you want to give? I still mean that."

Blue eyes study him for a few long moments, and Hugh waits.

"Sorry for being...weird about it."

"It bothered you, and we talked about it. I don't think that's weird."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Now, if you ever stop wanting to cuddle, that might be a problem."

That draws the laugh he hoped it would, and he feels a relieved smile curve his lips. It's part and parcel of Paul's love to manifest as concern with Hugh's happiness, but he wishes it would pick something less sensitive to settle on. Not that either of them have any control over it.

"Never. Even when we're a hundred and ten and have more artificial joints and organs than real ones."

Hugh leans forward, rubbing their noses together and stealing a kiss, then another, and a dozen more. 

"Now," he glances downward, Paul's interest gone soft during their conversation, "should I...?"

Paul untangles their twined fingers, tucking himself back into his pajama pants.

"I think I just want those snuggles."

Grinning, Hugh settles down under the covers and draws Paul to him.

"Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read more about their tenth anniversary at [Seven Days on Risa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414536). Playful, loving smut abounds :)


	211. Stuck

"What are we doing?"

Gray's voice is loud and Adira jumps, immediately regretting it when their head bangs into the condenser.

"Oww- shhhhhh!"

He raises both eyebrows and holds up his hands in placation, crawling in next to them in the small space.

"Well?"

"Shh. I'm...hiding."

The eyeroll is just as predictable as Gray's smirk.

"Obviously. Why?"

"Aren't you in my head? Can't you, I dunno, figure it out?"

"It doesn't work that way," Gray snickers, "I don't think anyone except you knows how your brain works anyway."

"Hmph."

"Adiraaaaaa..."

Tucking their knees against their chest, Adira makes a face but gestures towards the environmental control console a few meters away. On it, Hugh's lifted Paul to perch on the edge and is holding both of his hands while Paul's legs swing at his sides. It's horribly domestic, and something they're still not quite sure how it's real while at the same time feeling completely right. Paul and Hugh are affectionate as easily as breathing - easier, even, it seems - and while Tilly had whispered that they usually tried to be more professional in the presence of others, Adira is fascinated that after this long they're still drawn to each other so strongly.

"Oh. Huh."

"Yeah."

"Why are we watching them?"

"Because I told Paul I was going to get dinner an hour ago, but I got distracted because I was working on stuff. And then I heard Hugh, and I'd told Paul for like the fifth time I was leaving, and...yeah."

Gray sits back cross-legged and scratches the side of his neck. Adira used to joke that one particular patch of his spots had to be itchy whenever he was thinking, and for a moment they _miss_ touching him so much that it aches.

"Why didn't you just leave?"

"Because," Adira can just hear snippets of their conversation about dinner plans, "they're standing between me and the door. And I didn't want to interrupt them."

"Ahh."

Falling silent, they watch Hugh say something that makes Paul chuckle. Then he kisses the tip of Paul's nose and wraps his arms around Paul's waist to set him back on the ground. It's not that far, but Hugh turns it into a hug before pecking him once on the lips and leaving.

Adira huffs a sigh of relief as Paul picks up his scanner, clipping it back onto his belt and closing his toolkit. Once he leaves, they should be able to get across the bay to the other door and into the corridor before he emerges from Engineering. If they take a shortcut through Jefferies Tube 7A, they should be able to order food and eat enough of it that when Paul gets there he won't realize-

"You know," Paul's voice is louder, turning around to head towards them, "you don't have to hide when Hugh comes in here."

Gray's face mirrors their surprise.

"Busted."

Sighing, Adira crawls out from under the condenser and accepts his hand to stand.

"I wasn't...hiding."

"Okaaaaay. Inspecting the structural integrity of the underside of the equipment?"

Adira scowls.

"I was trying to give you two...privacy. Or something."

"And plotting how to get to the Mess Hall ahead of me, so that I didn't know you kept working when I told you to leave?"

They know crossing their arms is a defensive posture, but it's too much of an ingrained reaction.

"Maybe."

Shaking his head, Paul uses his elbow to nudge Adira's shoulder.

"Come on. Let me drop this off with Tilly, and we can _walk_ to the Mess Hall. Hugh's just finishing something up and he'll meet us there."

"Umm. If you two want to have dinner together, I can..."

"They don't need a matchmaker!" Gray laughs, and Adira can feel their cheeks heating.

"Adira."

He stops halfway to the door, turning to face them again.

"Yeah?"

"I have...all the time in the universe to spend with him now."

"But I don't want to take too much-"

Paul's amused smile turns softer, although there's still a hint of mischief in his eyes. He starts walking again, stepping into the spore drive bay and handing off his readings to Tilly who looks up from the panel just long enough to accept the PADD.

"You're not interrupting. We like spending time with you, both of us. Besides, didn't I tell you? Package deal. There's no backing out now."

There's not much Adira can say to that, so they duck their head and stare at their boots.

"You're stuck with them," Tilly adds helpfully, punching figures into her console, "trust me."

"C'mon kiddo," Paul starts towards the door, "dinner."

"I'm not a kid."

"Pssst," Tilly stage whispers after Paul's crossed the threshold, "it means he likes you!"

"Come on, 'Dira," Gray calls from halfway down the corridor, "I want to see you order that fish thing you said you were going to eat."

Tilly smiles encouragingly, and Adira waves at her before leaving.

"Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half-hour writing spree because I'm avoiding my overflowing work inbox. Ugh. I need to pull an Adira and hide somewhere.


	212. Solitude

Gray watches Paul sitting with Adira as they discuss quantum theory, PADDs scattered all around and a holographic model floating in the air between them. He sees the way Adira's eyes light up when Paul gives them an approving look or says something about just how insightful or brilliant they are. Adira's besetting demon has long been self-effacement and deprecation to the point of ridiculous attempts to work their way out of compliments. It hadn't been something he'd been able to banish for them, and he thinks he might have been jealous that someone else is able to make progress if that someone was anyone besides Paul Stamets.

He listens when they're all having dinner, Paul and Hugh exchanging rapid-fire verbal pokes and what could be construed as insults if one didn't know any better. Gray recognizes the pattern in the back and forth, hears what isn't being said and realizes just how grounded each of them is in his own self and the solid foundation of their love. And when they extend that teasing to Adira, who sputters into their soup but eventually joins in, he thinks he might start crying.

Hugh promised they would find a way for him to be seen, and Gray believes him as strongly as he's ever believed anything. Neither Hugh nor Paul are people who balk at challenges or consider a problem unsolvable, which means he couldn't be in better hands. More importantly, his Adira couldn't have found a better set of quasi-parents if they'd sat down and tried to design them from scratch.


	213. Skin (Deep)

Paul delights in Hugh’s body not least because it’s gorgeous - it most certainly _is - _but even still in wonder for the feeling it evokes in himself. Kissing him is devotion, and his smile is sunshine. His skin is warm and smooth, so much power contained beneath, a quiet strength and sureness. There’s a spark of connection that hasn’t faded since the first time he laid his hand on Paul’s arm, a magnetic pull that itches in his fingertips, never stilling until he can touch. 

Hugh loses himself Paul’s body not simply because it’s beautiful, but most especially because it belongs to Paul. His eyes shine with that impossibly blue sparkle, and he hums with contentment in Hugh’s arms. The invisible hair over freckled skin tickles his senses, every line and scar and imperfection a perfect thing. It’s never possible to be close enough, to try and communicate how he feels about him through worship of his physical form, to use it to give him pleasure as an expression of love. 

Even in slumber, they reach for each other. Palm to palm they lie, fingers clasped. Anchored. 

They belong to each other.


	214. Share

Hugh and Paul kiss an awful lot, Adira notices.

A quick peck goodbye before the turbolift doors open and they go their separate ways on shift.

A greeting when Paul gets back to their quarters, Adira in tow with Tilly following behind for a movie night.

Hugh’s lips pressed to Paul’s temple when they’re watching said holonovel, arm casually draped over his shoulders as they all squeeze onto the couch.

An apology when Paul’s gesturing animatedly as he critiques the plot and accidentally elbows Hugh in the ribs.

Paul’s lips pressed to Hugh’s shoulder when he embraces him from behind after Hugh finishes spreading a blanket over a snoring Tilly and mostly-asleep Adira.

An extended goodnight kiss once the lights are out and they’re in bed, which-

Eww.

Anyway.


	215. Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title suggested by the awesome Snorlax_on_USS_Discovery :)
> 
> Can be read as a follow up to Chapter 107 ("Shovel Talk"), or on its own.

The first time Hugh brings Paul home to his family for Christmas is, frankly, terrifying. 

He'd held up as well as possible to the flurry of introductions, all of Hugh's aunts and uncles and cousins and their families greeting Hugh with hugs and kisses as they arrived at Aida's house. They inevitably then turned to Paul with a curious, affectionate, or teasing "and who's this?" in Hugh's direction. Hugh would grin or laugh, and reach back without looking to catch Paul's hand and tug him forward, naming off his relations as Paul attempted to pretend he didn't have a death grip on Hugh's fingers. Despite the awkward self-consciousness, it kindled a warmth in his chest that only increased every time he realized that Hugh was introducing him by name alone. Others might have taken it as reticence to refer to Paul as his boyfriend (Paul still can't believe it himself some days), but the the also-inevitable delighted exclamations of "oh, yes, _Paul, _finally!" made it clear that no additional explanation was needed because _they all already knew._

Lunch is delicious, and Hugh's father makes a point of cheerfully piling Paul's plate with food every time a dish is passed around. Given the vast quantities being put away by everyone else, he tries to will the nervousness in his stomach down enough to eat anything, lest his hosts think him rude. 

_You can do this._

When Hugh makes a comment about his brilliant boyfriend out to transform faster than light travel and what feels like everyone's attention is turned his way, Paul briefly considers whether there's space to hide under the table. The hand resting warm on his knee might be the one thing preventing him from coming up with a suitable excuse to leave the room. He fumbles his way through a quick description of his research, addressing his plate rather than trying to make eye contact even though he can only see pleasant expressions in his peripheral vision. The confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance persona he dons to survive conferences is nowhere to be found; normally, he's not terribly concerned with what people think of his manners, but this is Hugh's family and he can't make a bad impression. 

Afterwards, Paul doesn't expect to be detached from Hugh's sheltering presence by none other than his nieces and nephews, eager to talk to him and making him wonder just what they'd been told and by whom. They couldn't have been paying attention to the adults at lunch, so it's probably Aida, who he is by turns charmed and intimidated by. He recognizes the flashes of the steel and echoes of her piercing looks from Hugh, and it's slightly terrifying to see exactly where he's gotten in from. Either way, the kids monopolize him when one suggestion to improve the structure of their pillow and chair fort leads to him explaining the concept behind strength in arches and angles with plenty of hands-on demonstration. It's both more and less challenging than adults, because he's never really been comfortable around people until they're old enough to hold a reasonable scientific conversation but they also don't make demands or judgments that he can't handle.

It isn't until a hand on his lower back startles him out of spreading yet another sheet that he realizes Hugh has wandered over to their corner of the living room. His smile is wide and delighted, laughing when his niece Antonella makes a face as he presses a quick kiss to Paul's lips. 

"Nellita, can I have Paul back now? It's almost time for dinner."

She considers the question for only a moment before nodding.

"Okay. Can we keep going after dinner, Tío?"

Paul's surprised when Hugh doesn't respond, until a gentle nudge makes him realize that Nella is addressing _him,_ and a flurry of Denevan fireflies set themselves loose in his stomach.

"Oh. Umm, me...you want to?"

Nella gives him a stare that says 'obviously', and it's so familiar from Hugh's face that all he can do is stand there and blink as it processes.

"All right," Hugh rescues him, "but only after we help Abuela clean up, okay?"

His niece agrees, crawling back into the fort and leaving them staring at each other.

"Sweetheart?"

Hugh's arm is warm around his waist, and Paul leans into it.

"...she called me-"

"Tío, yes. It means 'uncle'."

Paul's not feeling so out of his depth that he can't summon up a mock-annoyed frown.

"I know, I'm not _completely _incapable of understanding Spanish. Just...me?"

"Yes, you," Hugh kisses his cheek, "you're wonderful with kids."

"No I'm not."

"Babe," the affectionate laugh makes him smile in return, "this has to be the longest any adult has managed to keep them out of the kitchen since...well, since I was young enough to be sent outside to play with my cousins because Abuela was cooking."

"Really?"

"Really."

He's not given a chance to reply, because Hugh's uncle sticks his head out of the kitchen and calls for their help carrying dishes. Paul can't help but think about the way Hugh's aunts speak to him like another member of the family, how Hugh's mother and father haven't been anything but welcoming and interested in knowing him better, and his cousins try to include him in their conversations. It's completely different than his own family holidays, and he'd only been half joking when he asked if Hugh's relations were going to grill him as an outsider. The one person who had anything remotely critical to say had been Aida, and that only in reference to determining his intentions towards her favorite grandson. He must have passed her test, because she merely pats his shoulder with a smile when he goes to retrieve a large casserole dish from the oven. And while he catches her watching him throughout the rest of the evening, there's no accusation, just thoughtful regard.

Nella won't be gainsaid, and drags him off once the table is cleared and espresso poured, and Paul spends the rest of the time moving furniture and redesigning the increasingly elaborate fort until the younger members of the family are sent off for bed. Hugh is waiting for him on the couch, holding out the edge of a blanket to wrap themselves in against the evening chill. That's the other thing Paul is still getting used to, Hugh's apparent ease in indulging in displays of physical affection in front of his family. None of the others who have brought partners seem to have any reservations either. He can't imagine doing so with his own parents present, not because he's ashamed or anything, but because the Culber surplus of hugs and casual touches were very much not a part of his upbringing. 

Hugh must sense that he's lost in thought and doesn't press Paul to join in his conversation with his cousin Mina about her plans to enter the diplomatic corps, just hands him a mug of hot cider and tugs Paul a little closer. The cider, he discovers, is laced with a generous helping of rum along with the earthy spices. He probably downs it a bit faster than he should, because he finds himself starting to sag further against Hugh's shoulder as his eyelids grow heavy. Paul lets himself drift, carried along on the currents of conversation around him and Hugh's steady breathing. 

They have a whole week more ahead of them here, and he thinks it's likely to be the best Christmas he's ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly sure where I was headed with this one, other than wanting to add another story about Paul being overwhelmed by Hugh's family adopting him. Fluffy holiday fluff makes me happy.


	216. Streusel

"What? Babe, you're drunk."

"I thu- thought I was adorable."

"You are. Adorably drunk."

"Hmph."

"Did you actually call me 'streusel'?"

"Mmhmm."

"I'm crumbly and buttery?"

"...no, you're sweet and tasty and smell good, and adding you to cake makes it even better, and I like to lick you off my-"

"Okay, I'm taking you home now."

"So I can lick you?"

"So you can talk loudly about whatever you want to do to me when Tilly isn't three feet away."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Does this mean I don't get to lick you?"

"...it means the turbolift doors are about to open and you should probably get your hand out of my pants."

"But I wanna-"

"Shush. We're almost there."

"Hugh?"

"Hmm?"

"Why's the deck moving?"

"It's not, that's you."

"Oh. Okay."

"All right...let me give you a detox- babe, that's my side."

"Mmphh comfy."

"Your boots are still on."

"...muh..."

"Babe?"

_*snore*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this came from.


	217. Sadness, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy tries to figure out what happened between her leaving the medbay and finding Paul cradling Hugh's dead body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING for heavy angst and a lot of emotional pain***

His body was still warm when Harrington commed a medical emergency and Tracy ended up having to sedate Paul to get him to release Hugh. It had been a deceptive warmth from Paul's own heat, as she squeezed Hugh's limp hand and murmured, "it'll be okay, I've got you," before beaming directly back to the medbay. 

The biobed alarms begin screaming at her - when she'd scanned Hugh quickly his vital signs hadn't registered, but Tracy's well-versed in resuscitation and can easily fix that - the readings showing the fatal injury. His head rolls at an unnatural angle when she applies the cortical stimulator while reaching for the defibrillator and she freezes, unable to blink or breathe as the screen dispassionately highlights the massive tear to his carotid and estimates just how long his brain has been starved of oxygen.

_Too long._

The moment shatters. Furious, she runs the scans again, grabbing a new tricorder and resetting the biobed. None of that changes the fact that Hugh no longer has any notable synaptic activity, and yet she continues, can't stop scanning and cursing and repeating his name as if he could hear her and just wake up. 

It takes Aisha gently taking the equipment from her hands before it really sets in that her best friend of twenty years is dead and there isn't a single thing anyone's medical training could do to change that. Tracy tries to take a deep breath and fails, her physician's ability to lock out emotion shredded. She falls numbly onto a stool at the side of the bed, curling forward until her forehead touches Hugh's shoulder and his cheek coming to rest heavily against her. 

_This can't be happening._

He's still, so still, and it's all wrong. For as long as she's known him, no matter the calm professionalism, Hugh Culber was vibrantly _alive_, chest rising and falling and a smile never far from his lips. The weight of his head on her own reminds her of nights spent crying on his shoulder, or him on hers, always so solid and steady and strong. Her next breath is a ragged sob, but she hardly notices. 

_This can't be real._

Saru and Tilly find them like that, Tracy's tears soaking Hugh's jacket and Aisha sitting on the floor at the side of the biobed with her head on her knees. Perretta, who'd taken charge of Paul's unresponsive form, is standing completely motionless and staring at the biobed readout, and he jerks violently when Saru places a hand on his arm.

"...Doctor Pollard? Doctor Culber is..."

He's certainly capable of reading the scans himself and she almost tells him to do so. Her control slams back down then, and instead sits up, a hand on Hugh's jaw to gently right his head again.

"He's gone."

The choked sob from Tilly at her words echoes her own heart, and the cadet sits down hard on the floor as Saru blinks in seeming incomprehension.

"I'm sorry, is there nothing you can do?"

She shakes her head, unsure from what well of resolve she'd finds the strength to keep her voice steady.

"His neck was broken. Fatal tear to his carotid."

"But can you not...repair it?"

Grinding her teeth, anger flares hot under her skin. Tracy knows it's his own shock manifesting as denial, but it's like a battering ram on her fragile composure.

"Even if I did and restarted his heart, Hugh...wouldn't wake up. He's been gone too long."

"...when-?"

"I don't know," she strokes Hugh's cheek with her fingers, using her other to gesture in Perretta's direction, "Paul was holding him, but he's completely dissociated. I-"

_Oh saints and angels. _

_**Paul**. _

"Why would Lieutenant Stamets do-"

Tracy's calm snaps.

"Paul would _never_, ever have hurt Hugh."

Eyes wide, Saru takes a step back at the vehemence in her tone, nearly tripping over Tilly.

"Who else would have done such a thing?"

"Computer, give me a record of occupants of the medbay for the past two hours."

**>> Unable to comply. Files have been corrupted.**

"I don't know. Not Paul."

"If Lieutenant Stamets was found with Doctor Culber...as you say, he has not been himself, so perhaps-"

Opening her clenched fists, Tracy crouches down and lifts Tilly to her feet, supporting her weight when she sways like a sapling in a storm, shaking and silent.

"No. That can't be true."

Her words are bitten off, sharp, even as Tilly hides her face in her shoulder. Saru stares at her, but she holds her ground until he looks away.

"Aisha."

Tracy watches as she pulls herself to her feet on the edge of the biobed, smoothing down her uniform. Aisha's eyes are dull and she completely ignores Saru, staring at Tracy as if she's only capable of focusing on a single thing.

"Tracy?"

"Take Tilly."

Aisha carefully detaches Tilly from her side, and Tracy waits until she leads her away to turn her attention back to Saru.

"I understand your long history with them may have that conclusion, but until we know more, I will need to have Mister Stamets restrained."

"That's an insult to them both. Sir."

"Doctor, I do not like it any more than you do. However, my decision is for the safety of everyone. I am sorry."

Tracy clamps her mouth shut to prevent a response from coming out that would likely get her relieved of duty. She breathes in once, twice, five times before she thinks she can speak again. Raising her chin, Tracy stares hard at Saru.

"Commander. I watched them fall in love a very, very long time ago, and there is no way in this universe or any other that Paul would _ever_ raise a hand to Hugh."

"Nonetheless. Perhaps an examination of Doctor Culber would yield additional information to exonerate him?"

He might be saying something else, but by the time she realizes it, Saru is already turning away. She wants to be charitable and assume it's the command mode or pure shock, but her own anger remains and she can't bring herself to say anything further to him.

_My best friend is dead, _she wants to scream, _how dare you blame it on the one person in the entire universe who couldn't possibly have done it?_

_I'm sorry, Hugh._

* * *

The privacy field activates around them, and Tracy lets out a shaky sigh. Aisha, on the other side of the bed, does much the same as they look at the figure lying still between them. Tracy knows she should start the autopsy record, but can't bring herself to say the words aloud, as if by doing so they would become irrevocably real and final. Neither of them seems to want to be the first to speak, so Tracy reprograms and reactivates the biobed functions and takes out her own handheld scanner. As she scans, she places on hand on Hugh's thigh in an automatic gesture drilled into them in med school, providing a grounding touch to the patient. She doesn't even realize it until she moves her hand to rest on Hugh's wrist, and the unnatural coolness of the skin shocks her back to reality.

Hugh ran hot, no matter if it was a stiflingly humid Puerto Rican day or in the foggy San Francisco chill. He laughingly complained on more than one occasion about Paul using him as his own personal space heater at night, icy fingers and toes shoved against various parts of Hugh's anatomy. She'd always...

_Paul._

_He doesn't know. How in the hell am I going to tell him?_

Unsure of the instinct that prompts her but knowing somehow that it's needed, she pops open Hugh's collar and unzips his jacket. Wordlessly, she motions for Aisha to help support his torso, his body so much heavier without him inside of it, working the sleeves off his arms.

"Tracy?"

She pauses, half-turned away, jacket held to her chest.

"It's already been scanned for evidence."

"That's not...I didn't mean that. What-?"

Tracy's fingers wrinkle the fabric, the white marred by two tiny drops of drying blood on the collar. A few near-invisible blond hairs cling to the shoulders, and it takes a couple of tries before the words can make it past the tightness in her throat.

"I'm going to go tell Paul."

* * *

Once she gets back, together they manage to remove Hugh's boots, pants, and undershirt. Aisha seems reluctant to go any further, obsessively folding and refolding each garment until the edges are even.

"I don't think Hugh would mind," she murmurs, but the attempt at humor falls flat. "Let's just start the physical examination here."

She lets Aisha arrange Hugh's hands at his sides, waiting for her nod before starting a visual inspection. 

_Not a hair out of place._

No sign of head trauma or defensive wounds, and no other fractures. 

_Just his neck._

There are a half dozen fading bruises on Hugh's throat just below where the uniform collar would sit and spreading over his shoulders, and chest. Tracy doesn't need a scanner to recognize the love bites, or the ones on Hugh's inner thighs. 

_If I checked, would Paul have them in the same places?_

Aisha doesn't comment, hands shaking a little as she helps with his underwear and carefully covers him with a drape up to the chest.

_Well-loved, Hugh used to say._

Tracy's seen Hugh naked on more than one occasion - usually accompanied by more of Paul than she ever needed to know - but this is different as she finally begins the autopsy notes, relating their observations. 

_Pretend he's asleep, that's all. Sleeping on the couch at Med, passed out after finals when the environmental controls malfunctioned and it felt like a jungle._

Aisha's scanner chirps.

"Tracy..." 

"What?"

"I'm reading...significant quantities of DNA that aren't his."

"Wha- where?"

Instead of answering, Aisha turns it so she can see the screen. For a moment, her heart climbs into her throat as a dagger of ice pierces her stomach, then-

_You said you overslept this morning. No time for a shower._

"Run a match, but I'm pretty sure that's Paul."

Had it really been just a few hours ago that she'd left Hugh watching over Paul, gently stroking his temple and speaking softly to him?

Aisha stares blankly for a moment, then shakes her head sharply, pulling up Paul's file.

"Of course. I just-"

"I know."

The confirmation from the genetic comparison is exactly as she expects, and she steadfastly refuses to consider what she would have done had it been otherwise. 

_One last time together. Oh Hugh._

They continue with the rest of the autopsy, numbness beginning to creep around the edges of her perception. When she's done recording, she meets Aisha's eyes and sees her own pain reflected. 

"We should get him into stasis."

It's not a reproach, and sounds like Aisha is repeating protocol on automatic the same way Tracy has been to try to hold it together. Still, neither of them move to cover Hugh's face, the finality of the act looming between them.

"I know. Just...I need a few minutes?"

Aisha nods, then picks up Hugh's limp hand. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, she exhales slowly, pressing her lips to his knuckles, then his cheek. Her lips move in what might be a prayer or blessing or just unvoiced grief, and Tracy averts her eyes to give the illusion of privacy. Then Aisha's gone with a squeeze to Tracy's arm, the draft from her passing like a weary sigh.

Tracy gazes at Hugh's face, memorizing the features even as her mind overlays so many expressions onto it. 

"Hugh," Tracy murmurs, even though she knows he can no longer hear her, "Hugh, it's Tracy. I- saints and angels, how could you? You're- fuck. You still owe me for our final project at Med. How am I supposed to collect now? And how am I supposed to tell Paul that yo- you...that you're gone? If he wakes up again. Maybe this is all just a nightmare I'll wake up from, and you'll laugh at me when I tell you."

His familiar face blurs as her eyes fill with tears.

"I promise I'll look after Paul for you. Someone has to, right? Even if he doesn't want to let me."

Hugh's skin is cool under her lips when she kisses his forehead.

"I love you, Hugh."

As if from a great distance, she watches herself draw the drape up and settle it in place, hiding him from view. Slowly, Tracy stands and smooths a wrinkle away from over his knees. Then she steps through the privacy field, nodding at the rest of the medical staff to say their farewells and going to set up a stasis pod.

_No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracy covers Paul with Hugh's jacket in Chapter 195 ("Sadness"). Read the autopsy report in [Chapter 18 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932235/chapters/55981492)


	218. Silent

Everything about their evening is languorous, unhurried and easy. They fall into the comfortable silence that sometimes exists between them where one needs no words to communicate with the other, just a glance or a quirk of the lips to convey a thought. 

Once settled under the covers, they snuggle close, limbs moving to rearrange themselves into patterns born of long habit. Hugh pulls the duvet over their heads and kisses Paul in the ensuing darkness, slow and deep. The air grows hot and humid in their little pocket of the universe, their bubble of peace, as shirts are removed and hands set to roaming.

Still, there’s no rush. Paul nibbles Hugh’s lower lip, the wet smack when their mouths separate loud in the small space. He sighs when Hugh’s lips trace a path from the tender skin just below his ear, down over where his pulse beats close to the surface and then back up the other side. They nuzzle each other, tips of their noses rubbing together, and Hugh drinks Paul’s soft noises of contentment.

Eventually, arousal makes itself known, built up gently between their bodies as sweat dampens their skin. Kicking their pants off seems too abrupt, as if it would somehow spoil things. Instead, Paul works Hugh’s down around his hips, then lowers his own without ever breaking the kiss. He gathers them together in his hand, slippery with Hugh’s pleasure, slow strokes in time with the rhythm of their mouths.

Strong, clever fingers wander over his ribs, seeking out and finding a nipple to tease. He squirms even closer, abandoning things below the waist to pull Hugh into his arms properly. There’s no demand to take things further than the gentle rocking of their hips. Nothing needed beyond a steady rise towards climax, just kisses and caresses and sighs. 

Paul comes first, and Hugh follows less than a minute later. Sticky warmth spreads between them, smearing over their stomachs as they try to keep the pleasure aloft as long as possible. 

When they still, Hugh retrieves his shirt to clean them off. Pants are pulled up and drawstrings retied, then they curl around each other again. Paul doesn’t need to see to find Hugh’s mouth, waiting for him to share a goodnight kiss. Warm and loved, they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this an apology for the previous chapter, because that one even surprised me when I wrote it.


	219. Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics borrowed from Bruno Mars with a few tweaks from Hugh :)

Hugh might not be able to hum Kasselian opera (a decade and a half later and Paul _still _can’t figure out if Hugh only did it badly to annoy him), but singing is something else entirely. His voice is sweet and clear, and it sets something loose in Paul’s chest to twirl and flutter when he really lets go at full volume. He goes through cycles of music, but Paul’s noticed a marked fondness for classic Earth songs in the last couple of months. There’s something timeless about them, despite being over two centuries old, and sometimes Paul’s even treated to hearing Hugh work through the same line or two over and over in completely different ways. 

Tonight, Paul comes home to find Hugh in the shower, a few lovely notes drifting out the open bathroom door. He can’t quite hear the words, so after kicking off his boots, Paul makes his way over to stand in the doorway. Hugh’s silhouette is just visible through the frosted glass, but he doesn’t need to see the details to know that Hugh’s eyes are closed, head thrown back under the spray. 

_“-his eyes make...stars look...they’re not shining...” _

Frowning, Paul closes his own eyes to listen, straining to make out the words. The sound of falling water obscures bits of it, although from the pauses and relatively quiet volume it seems like Hugh is trying to remember the lyrics in snippets. 

_“...his lips, I could kiss them all day if he’d let me...he’s so beautiful, and I tell him every day...”_

Warmth kindles in his stomach, unbidden and far from unwelcome.

_“...I compliment him he won’t believe...so sad...he don’t see what I see-“_

There’s plenty of reasons why Hugh could be singing this particular song, but the way his voice caresses the words gives them more weight. It feels like he means them.

_“...face...not a thing that I would change...amazing, just the way you are.”_

Hugh works his way through the chorus a few more rounds. When the last note fades the shower pauses too, and he looks up to find Hugh watching him from the half-open door, water beading on his eyelashes.

”Hi sweetheart.”

”That was...beautiful, Hugh,” he murmurs, voice catching.

”Yeah?”

There’s something impossibly soft in his gaze, and Paul falls in love with him again for the millionth time. 

“Yes.”

”Come in here, and I’ll sing it all for you?”

Paul smiles, nodding.

”Please. What’s it about?”

Instead of teasing him about the meaning being obvious, Hugh just holds out his hand.

“Us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always loved this song, and it felt like it fits how Hugh feels about Paul.
> 
> This chapter isn’t titled “Song” or “Sing” only because I’ve had one unfinished for over a year that’s going to use it when I finally finish. Title updated to "Serenade", thanks to the amazing LadyRiona who reminded me what my late-night brain couldn't think of!


	220. Splintered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reno's tired of the angst.

Jett Reno generally tries not to interfere in other's lives unless absolutely necessary. She's not interested in petty drama, and has even less time for those who start it. Granted, a lot of the time those personal things cross over into the professional side, so she feels justified in giving people a sharp nudge (verbal or physical) or offering unsolicited advice when it seems there isn't any other alternative. 

Take the Mushroom Lord and his not-so-deceased doctor. 

Her initial impression of him aside, it rapidly becomes clear that the outward display of irritation and condescension is a fragile defense. She's not a shrink, but she _does_ have a finely developed sense of bullshit. Reno gets bits and pieces of Stamets' story from Tilly, and others from observation (she approves of the calling to his life's work, despite her skepticism over the use of mushrooms as faster-than-light propulsive providers). Her first guess, though still unsubstantiated, is that he hadn't had strong support from the people who should have been there. Combine that with someone uncomfortable with unknowns - people and situations - and presto, rude scientist.

The rest of it slots into place when she overhears Dr. Pollard tell one of the nurses, "Hugh would have loved this". Blunt and no-frills as she is, Reno knows better than to ask about the overtones of unresolved grief. Instead, she queries the computer, consults Tilly (who gives her a much-abridged version of the whole story), and starts watching Stamets in the spaces between words.

She knows, intimately, what loss can do to a person. Reno is overly familiar with feeling permanently off-balance, the relentless pain and the impossibility of redefining the universe when a constant has been torn away. It doesn't seem that his relationship with Hugh defined Stamets, not precisely; she's cynical enough to recognize when over-dramatic declarations of dependency meant someone didn't have an identity without them, and that's not it. He's a complete person on his own, would have been before they met, that much is clear. 

What breaks her heart (not that she'd ever admit as much), is understanding _exactly_ why Stamets doesn't know how to love himself as that person anymore.

After the magic mushrooms rebuild his boyfriend and said boyfriend rejects what had to have been awkward attempts at reconnection, Stamets falls into an even deeper funk. War was hell on a number of levels without isolation. Her own defense in reintegrating after months alone with unconscious bodies was dialing the sarcasm up from ten to about fifteen thousand, and she gets why Culber wants to climb out of his own skin, to figure out how to even be around others. On the other hand, once it drags on past a couple of weeks, she's about ready to enlist Tilly to weld them into a Jefferies Tube together until they talk. Communication is a bitch, sure, but the constant mournful looks now that Culber's back in reach are starting to drive her up the wall. 

Watching him bleed out from a broken heart reminds her far too much of her own loss. Except, her wife had known the risks of Starfleet, of a Federation at war, and they'd had honest conversations full of dark humor about the high likelihood that one or both of them wouldn't make it out the other side. For all that it sounds like it had been a mature, respectful, and profoundly loving relationship, there's a naïveté in Stamets' belief that love itself is enough. Not to say that he hadn't put work into his relationship - although she wonders at his guilt for not doing so in a sufficient amount - but by all accounts (and she's collected several), Hugh Culber had been the sort of man most anyone romantically interested in men would want to be in a relationship with. Reno might be indifferent to the charms of human males, but she can see the appeal in someone kind, compassionate, intelligent, confident without arrogance, and completely devoted to his partner. And for someone seemingly denied simple validation and affection in his formative years, well, small wonder that he'd been the perfect balance for Stamets. 

They all need him to be focused (and she'll grudgingly admit that he _is_ a genius, so imagine him without the distraction...), and he's not capable of pulling himself up alone. Tilly literally throws her hands in the air when Reno mentions ways to fix the situation. Nilsson shakes her head and sighs. Harrington only shrugs, so a hangnail seems like a perfect excuse to pay the other half of the equation a visit. What they both need is a well-placed kick in the ass, but she'll have to settle for using her words.

If they all survive this...whatever it is, the Mushroom Lord owes her. Big time.


	221. Stunning

Hugh's fascinated with Paul's eyes, has waxed poetic about them with or without a glass of wine in hand. He calls them gorgeous, describes a kaleidoscope of colors in their depths. Tells Paul they're stormy, quicksilver change in moods reflected immediately. Loves to gaze into them lovingly, or playfully, or in simple contentment.

By Hugh's account, his own are boring. No shift in colors, no comparison to gems or skies or oceans. Plain, unremarkable, good for seeing but indifferent to being seen.

Paul disagrees completely.

They captivated him from the moment he snapped, "Stifle it or sit somewhere else!" and turned towards the source of that annoying humming only to find himself going tongue-tied at the lively, mischief-filled gaze being trained on him by the most attractive man he'd ever seen. Paul finds it easy to look away when someone is speaking to him, but he couldn't stop staring at that stranger. Hasn't looked away in the fifteen years since. 

Hugh's eyes are full of empathy, good humor, and honesty. That day in the café, they told him that this man could never be cruel, would never tell a lie. They're rich amber, smoky topaz, warm and welcoming and kind. Even when his mouth is solemn, his eyes are still smiling. He's never needed words to communicate his feelings Paul, not really, not when Paul can look into them and feel himself wrapped in love.

There's nothing plain about them at all. 


	222. Stimulant

The future is becoming bright again. Tasks like exploring uncharted star systems, providing aid to long-disconnected worlds, or investigating unexpected phenomena that had all fallen by the wayside while the Federation struggled to hold together and fragile remnants of its peoples are now possible again, Starfleet's scientific mission remembered. 

This week, they’re busy cataloguing resources in a system at the edge of the Beta Quadrant, the crew enjoying a chance to do what they do best - the ship, like her namesake, meant for discovery. It had actually been necessary to set up rotations so that everyone who wished to was able to have their boots on solid ground at some point on one of the thirteen planets and moons. Tracy and Hugh aren't exempt to the excitement either, and maneuver their way onto a landing party alongside Paul and some of his engineers who are planning to explore native fungal species in an underground cave system. Even more than the fresh air and novelty, he loves the way the slightly reddish sunlight paints Paul's hair in shades of strawberry blond and catches on his eyelashes, remembering a younger but no less handsome man in a café with a serious face and the most adorable frown. He watches Paul, knowing that his lover is well aware of the attention and content with his regard. They're on duty so he doesn't reach for Paul's hand, settling for walking close together with their shoulders brushing as they head for the designated site.

Hugh fully anticipates and is therefore not miffed when Paul's tricorder picks up a new reading and he disappears from Hugh's side as if by transporter beam, right in the middle of a sentence. The two ensigns in his wake exit with a bit more grace, but they’re soon gone as well. 

On his left, Tracy's chuckle is fond.

"Nice to see some things never change."

"I can't compare to a new scientific discovery, Trace."

It's said lightly, and he smiles to make it clear that he's not going to dwell on the issues it's caused in the past. He'd never want his partner to change who he is, not when the exhilaration in pursuing his science one of the things Hugh loves most about him. Paul's much better these days with boundaries, remembering to stop for meals most of the time and avoiding late nights that kept him away from their bed unless there's an emergency or Hugh is working gamma. They both appreciate each other more, he thinks, in ways they hadn't understood they were missing...before.

Tracy's elbow jabbing his ribs, poorly disguised as a stretch, brings him back to the present.

"Sorry."

"Try not to walk into anything if you're daydreaming, or I'll make you treat your own sprained ankle this time."

"That was _ten years ago_, are you still-"

"Yes."

* * *

Two hours later, Hugh's field kit is full of specimens of native flora and Tracy's identified at least seven previously unrecorded enzymes. They meet back up with Paul and the others, and he can't suppress a grin at seeing them covered in mud and nearly vibrating with impatience to get back to the ship and fully analyze their new finds. Paul has a streak of dirt down one cheek and his hair is awry, likely from crawling around or under something in the cavern, but he glows with glee when he holds up a stasis canister with a pile of orange-green...something inside. Hugh doesn't bother trying to follow the excited chatter or pursue Paul and his team as they make a beeline towards the engineering labs, leaving muddy bootprints in their wake. He's sure he'll hear all about it later, smile lingering as he follows Tracy at a much more sedate pace. 

Once all of the small samples are catalogued, they turn their attention to the pile of intact fruits and flowers. Scanning and biochemical analysis could certainly be left to one of the actual science officers, but the task is medical-adjacent and Hugh enjoys doing something different for a change. He and Tracy work side by side, muttering to themselves and occasionally nudging the other for observation or input.

"...trace amounts of...stimulant properties," he murmurs, making a note on his PADD, "huh."

Tracy sets down the flower she's dissecting and leans over his shoulder.

"Cardiac effects? Synaptic clearance?"

They both watch as the readout scrolls through the substances present, comparing them to those in the Federation and Ni'Var databases.

"Actually," Hugh expands one of the categories, "it looks like it maps analogous to the 'natural remedies' multiple species use to increase desire. Low quantities, probably not enough to have an actual effect other than psychosomatic. Safe to eat, nothing harmful to anyone on board. Looks tasty tho- hey!"

Hugh's left staring at his empty palm as Tracy snatches it from him.

"What was that for? I wasn't going to eat it...”

She raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing about the edges of her mouth.

"It's for my own sanity. You two don't need any help in that department."

"Very funny."

”I saw the way you two were looking at each other over lunch.”

”How’s that?”

Hugh’s honestly curious.

“I’ve seen orgies less explicit than the two of you smiling at each other.”

He snickers, not rising to the bait.

”We probably have less sex than you think we do.”

Tracy places the purple tuber back into stasis, then gives him a shove with her shoulder when he suppresses a yawn.

"Shoo. Go collect your muddy lover and...do whatever you're going to do. Shower that dirt off, hopefully. And don’t tell me about it."

"Well-"

"Go on," she propels him towards the door with a hand on his shoulder, "and tell him to aim a half inch lower next time."

"What?"

"Your neck looks like it's been mauled."

"Oh. Oops?"

The completely false innocence earns him an eyeroll.

"Goodnight, Hugh."


	223. Surveillance

Paul feels like he’s being watched, and looks up to find Adira staring at him. Well, not _at_ him per se, but their eyes keep flicking back and forth between him and Hugh and they’re wearing the same expression as when they’re examining a particularly perplexing data set. He’s not sure what there is to see, especially when he and Hugh are leaning on opposite arms of the couch and haven’t exchanged a single word in the last ten minutes.

Adira notices his attention and is suddenly completely engrossed in the elaborate embroidery project spread on the table in front of them, holding it close to their chest. He'd actually love to get a closer look at it, but they've been oddly protective of it.

_Okay then._

Chalking it up to the inexplicable but universal mystery of teenage thought processes, Paul mentally shrugs and goes back to reading Tilly’s report.

Adira’s back at it a few minutes later. This time, Hugh seems to pick up on it first, because he nudges Paul’s ankle with his foot. There’s rapid motion in his peripheral vision, and he can’t see anything except the top of Adira’s head when he turns his own to look. Hugh’s wearing the same bemused smile that Paul sometimes get when he starts in on a random subject, raising his eyebrows in question. Paul’s quirked lips convey _me neither_, and Hugh taps his toes a couple of times in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the simulated cell holo hovering in front of him.

Another five pages, and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Tilly’s data is solid, but there’s something about the theoretical equation that seems off. It’s not her calculations though, and he huffs in frustration when he can’t quite seem to identify what it is. Hugh pauses his sim, DNA frozen between his long fingers, and glances over in concern. Paul points at the scrolling text, and he gets a sympathetic smile before Hugh resumes picking apart base pairs.

Adira’s wearing a perplexed frown, and he decides it’s probably time to ask.

”Adira?”

They start guiltily, and he makes sure to keep his voice soft.

”Everything okay over there?”

“Yes?” 

“You keep staring.”

”Oh. Umm. Err, sorry.”

“Did I miss something,” Paul prods gently, “or...?”

They set down the needle they're holding, and gesture a vague semi-circle using both hands.

“Just, you two...” Adira’s voice trails off for a moment, “keep doing that.”

”Doing what?”

He glances at Hugh, who dismisses the nucleic acid structure with a flick of his fingers, silent but expression curious.

”That thing. 

"What thing?"

Paul's distracted as Hugh's toes work their way up under the cuff of Paul’s pajama pants, poking at the hair on his shin. It tickles, and Paul gives him a quelling look that threatens revenge if he continues, which Hugh gleefully ignores. He narrows his eyes, Hugh tugs at the hair with his toes, and Paul hmphs before turning back to Adira.

”You’re doing it again.”

They can't be referring to Hugh's foot, right?

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, which thing?"

Adira's hands flutter again before they start to fidget with the pincushion on their lap.

"You know, that thing, where you have this whole conversation, but you’re not actually saying anything.”

_Oh._

"Huh."

“We’re not telepathic,” Hugh adds with an amused smile.

"I know that," Adira grumbles, "it's just...weird, watching you do it."

"Bad weird? Or good weird."

Paul's not sure when weird became a quantum of value, but he'll go with it.

"Just weird."

Hugh chuckles without a trace of anything suggesting that it's at Adira's expense.

"Adira," he smiles, "give it time. You'll get there with Gray."

Their eyes flick to the seemingly empty chair across from them for a few moments, then back over to the couch.

"When?"

Understanding dawns, and Paul feels a little tug inside his chest at the honest question. Removing Hugh's foot from under his pant leg earns him a pout, but he's more focused on Adira's earnest expression.

"When you realize one day that you're doing it and other people start to notice."

"That's...really non-specific."

"Believe me, I'm not being obtuse. It's just one of those things."

Adira considers them both in silence long enough that Paul wonders if his explanation hadn't helped. 

"Okay."

They wrinkle their nose and pick their needle back up again, going back to stitching something that looks vaguely like an amoeba. When they don't seem inclined to continue the conversation, Paul picks his PADD back up and is about to start reading again when a squeeze to his ankle gets his attention. He hums a question, but receives only an insistent tug in response until he closes the distance between them and curls up against Hugh's side, snaking an arm around his waist. Seemingly satisfied, Hugh resumes his sim. 

The PADD is abandoned on the cushions beside him as Paul snuggles into Hugh's shoulder and watches his fingers weave patterns in the air. Adira is visible through the faintly blue glow of the holoprojection, needle flashing as they work, a frown of concentration on their face. Hugh doesn't take his eyes off the holo, but he presses a kiss to Paul's temple that says everything.

Paul smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Space Dads giving relationship dynamic advice? I'm here for it.


	224. Special

Hugh's not sure what wakes him, the heavy pull of sleep tugging at him like a deep ocean current, and it takes a few moments before opening his eyes to become aware of his surroundings. He's warm but not overly hot, no sudden cramp in his calf, no elbow in the back, no pangs of hunger or thirst or the need to use the bathroom. It's completely dark save for the twinkling of stars through the viewport over the bed, silent but for the slow rhythm of his bedmate's breathing.

_Paul._

He can just make out messy blond hair above the covers on his right, a few inches of empty sheet between them. There's no sign that Paul's sleep has been disturbed by nightmares or restless movement, so Hugh must have woken up because they drifted apart. They're perfectly capable of sharing a bed without being wrapped around each other, but there's nothing quite like feeling Paul's chest rise and fall under his arm, or the solid weight of his body against Hugh's back. 

Without conscious thought, he scoots himself closer, fitting himself into all the negative space left by Paul's body under the covers. He tucks his knees against the backs of Paul's thighs, wraps his feet around his ankles and presses his nose into the soft fuzz of hair just behind an ear. Paul smells like citrus shampoo and musk, and Hugh makes a contented noise as he burrows his nose further into that special spot. His love squirms a little, shifting as Hugh's beard tickles his neck, and he apologizes with a gentle kiss brushed over the irritated skin. Closing his eyes again, he slips a hand under Paul's shirt to rest on his bare stomach. It's a little damp with the sweat of sleep, and Paul doesn't stir again even as he splays his palm wide. 

_Mine._

It's easy to fall back towards slumber, his breathing matching Paul's as he drifts into dreams of his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff, because Culmets snuggles are the very best.


	225. Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tío Hugh is kissing Tío Paul again, and Nella thinks that’s just ewwww.

Aida’s in the middle of preparing lunch with her youngest son, just turning off the old-fashioned burner when the patio door slides open. There’s no one visible over the edge of the counter, and she smiles to herself at the sound of small, quick feet. Nella appears a moment later, face scrunched up in a frown. Aida waits patiently, but no one else follows.

”Nellita? I thought I sent you to get your tíos.”

“I tried, Abuela,” Nella kicks her shoes off before a reproving look from her great-grandmother has her lining them up carefully next to the door, “but they’re..._kissing_ again.”

Well. She glances out the window over the stove, seeing the swing rocking gently and two heads - one dark and one fair - very close together indeed. Aida hadn’t expected any different, but she’d assumed they might actually be hungry for food after sleeping through breakfast.

_Oh, you know they weren’t sleeping._

David leans over her shoulder and snorts at the sight. 

“Abuelo? What’s so funny?”

He exchanges a look with Aida before setting down the knife carefully on the cutting board, wiping his hands and sweeping Nella up to perch on his shoulders. She giggles as he tsks at the scrapes on her knees, courtesy of climbing trees to look at fungi with Paul yesterday afternoon. 

“Come on Nellita, let’s go- careful, duck! Let’s go find your brother and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Once they’re safely outside, Aida turns her indulgent smile back towards her grandson and his partner still completely absorbed in each other. She considers calling them in herself, but Paul always seems so embarrassed to be interrupted. The affection and attraction between them is clear, much to the amusement of Hugh’s cousins who seem to delight in telling him what a catch Paul is when he’s in earshot just to see him blush. It’s surely for his comfort that they’ve retreated to the swing on the far end of the deck, because Hugh doesn’t have any qualms kissing him in front of everyone. (Aida’s almost certain that, given the house to themselves for a while, they’d be doing far different things than cuddling.)

Instead, she opens the kitchen window, waiting for the smell of savory and spices to get Hugh’s attention. Shaking her head fondly, Aida goes back to cooking. She’ll have to clear the house for them later.


	226. Stifle

“Harder.”

”Like that?”

”Fuck...oh! Right there, Hugh. More.”

Tilly stares straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with Adira who is also desperately attempting to sink into the deck and disappear. 

“Mmm, you’re so tight babe. What am I going to do with you?”

”This. Defini- fuck. Yessss...”

They’re both squeezed under the condenser unit - a legitimate repair this time - too far from the exit to make a quick or unnoticed escape, trapped when Dr. Culber sailed into the cultivation bay and literally swept Stamets off his feet before disappearing around the environmental control console. Stamets’ jacket was draped over the edge of said console, and a moment later the moaning had started. 

“What’s got you so worked up, hmmm?”

”...ahh, you- fuck, seriously expect me to talk ruhh-right now?”

She’s been so good at keeping Adira away from their quasi-parental figures doing anything worse than making out too, but it was definitely too good to last. Really, she’d love to put her hands over her ears, but she’s gripping a spanner and holding up part of a panel to keep it from squishing them both.

”Hold still, or it’s going to hurt.”

If Tilly leans to the side, she can just make out Stamets’ hands gripping the bare soil, fingers clenching in time with his moans. The top of Dr. Culber’s head is visible over the console, and he seems to be rocking rhythmically. 

“Deeper- ahhh...”

”Are you sure?”

”Mmmphh... oh yeah...”

Adira’s luckier, and Tilly spares a moment to envy them with their fingers in their ears, hopefully blocking the majority of sounds. 

“Relax for me- ahhh, like that, almost there. Gonna feel so good when I’m done with you.”

Tilly squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think about how she’s going to be able to look either of them in the eye for the next month or so after this.

“Breathe for me, good, you’re so good for me sweetheart. Just a bit more...”

Stamets lets out a long, mewling whimper, and she’s certain her face ought to be hot enough to melt duranium. After a few moments, she hears him sigh and the smacking sound of kissing.

”Mmm. Just what I needed.”

”Better?”

”Yes, dear doctor. Have I mentioned yet today that I love your hands?”

A laugh, warm and fond, and hearing that feels somehow more intrusive than the...other sounds.

“You might have, when you commed me to come give you a massage, silly.”

_Wait...a massage?_

Tilly is still processing when Stamets shuffles to his feet and comes around the console, his undershirt rumpled but pants still neatly buttoned. Dr. Culber joins him a moment later, and-

_Yep, he definitely patted Stamets on the ass._

“Mmm. Sorry, getting forgetful in my old age.”

”You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

”Says you.”

”I’m the only one whose opinion counts.”

”True.”

”Lunch?”

”Lunch.”

She almost forgets to stifle the gusty sigh when the sound of their footsteps recedes, waiting for the bay doors to open and close before nudging Adira with her knee. They peel one eye open, taking in her relieved expression before extracting their fingers from their ears.

”False alarm,” Tilly mutters, “Stamets wanted a massage.”

Tilly isn’t sure which of them is more relieved.

_Both. Definitely both._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swamped with budgets, but can’t give up the Culmets :)


	227. Surrender

He’s dreaming, unclouded by fear or pain or doubt as his dreams have often become of late. There are no angry words, no betrayal, no helpless grief. Bereft he is not, nor denied. 

Instead, he is wreathed in quiet contentment, warm and at peace. Stillness surrounds and fills him, not empty but complete, and he floats on it, rocked on the waves of its gentle protection. He is not alone, a voice whispers, will never be alone.

He is loved.

The dream starts to fall away, and he grasps at it, reluctant to leave its solace. It’s inevitable that he must wake though, and he steels himself against whatever reality he might wake to. He cannot remember what should be.

The air he gasps brings with it spice and musk and heat, tells his body to be at ease before his mind comprehends. There’s a weight on his chest that somehow eases his breathing, steadies his rapid heartbeat, soothes and calms.

”Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

The murmur is barely audible, and he blinks against the shadows to find the uncertain darkness coalescing into a familiar shape beside him, propped on an elbow. A moment later, the weight lifts from his chest - a hand - and rises to smooth the damp hair back from his forehead.

”What if I want to be awake,” he mumbles, “with you?”

Barely visible lips curve into a gentle smile, the briefest flash of white teeth. A rustle of sheets, then those same lips press a kiss to his forehead, firm and sure.

”Come here,” that soft voice replies, drawing him into strong arms, “you impossible man.”

He settles into their hold, safe and certain, lies still until the arms loosen and grow heavier with slumber, anchoring him against the vastness of the universe. The heartbeat under his cheek pulls him back towards sleep, though he fights it. So long has it been his refuge, his torment, giving and taking from him until he craves and despises it in equal measure.

No more.

For the first time in a very long time, the waking world can give him more than his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Season Two or Season Three? I’ll let you decide.
> 
> Written as Paul’s perspective, but I got to the end and realized I hadn’t actually used any names (although that “sweetheart” is probably enough).


	228. Sincere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk, early on.

"I promise I'll always be honest with you, in bed or out," Hugh murmurs one night, Paul sprawled over his chest and breathing gradually returning to normal.

"Of course," Paul pushes up on an elbow, frowning a little, "me too. Wait, do you think I..."

Hugh is quick to cut off that train of thought.

"No! No, I don't think you've been anything but honest. And I love that about you. But I wanted you to know, I'll always stop if you ask me to."

"Can't see that being a problem."

He can feel a corner of his mouth tugging up in a satisfied smile, unable to hold back moans of 'don't stop!' a few minutes ago.

"I mean it. No lying there and pretending to like it, or just because I want to if you really don't."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"I promise the same for you."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sweetheart..." 

"I...why? I know you wouldn't do anything like that."

The humid air is cooling, and Paul retrieves the sheet with one foot to cover them both.

"It's sweet of you to think that," Hugh sighs, expression serious, "and I hope I never do. But I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you."

Paul searches his face, earnest despite the sheen of sweat still damp on Hugh's skin. Even if it is the case, especially if Hugh likes something, he's sure he won't mind even if he's not as enthusiastic. They haven't come across a single thing that hasn't been either fun or mutually agreed with giggles isn't going to work, and Hugh's always been so attentive to his desires that Paul barely has to make requests or point things out at all. He thinks this means more than just the position they're having sex in or the occasional 'ouch, my leg doesn't bend that far'. This is important to his lover, although he can't quite understand why. Hugh in bed - or the floor, the table, and that one time in the equipment closet in his lab - is the picture of caring and considerate, and he's not sure what spurred this discussion. 

Something cold twists in his stomach.

"You- someone hasn't..." he trails off, unable to find the words to encompass the question.

Hugh catches on immediately though, just one of the amazing things about him.

"This isn't from experience. Well, not that kind of experience. I just...I know what this means for you," he gestures between them, "you've trusted me so much, and I want you to know that trusting me to share it with, I'm not going to take advantage of you on purpose or accidentally if I can help it at all."

He lets that sink in, and loves that Hugh doesn't push, just lets him take his time thinking about it.

Still.

“I’m not...delicate, you know,” he feels compelled to add. It’s not that he thinks Hugh considers him inadequate - though he still has his own misgivings - but he doesn’t want Hugh to think he has to tread lightly around anything. 

“I know.”

The smile is back, a curve of the lips and Hugh’s eyes gone soft.

”And I know there’s a lot of things you say you don’t need. And that might be true, but-“ Hugh moves closer despite their legs already being tangled, “I think you deserve to be treated better than you see yourself.”

"Hugh..."

Shaking his head slightly, Hugh rests their foreheads together, eyes closed.

"Anything you want, I want to give you," he murmurs, "everything." 

Paul loves this man so much.

"You already do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tired. Budget. Ugh.
> 
> Dusting off a few mostly-finished snippets while most of my brain is diverted to work.


	229. Sanctuary, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh, during “Context Is For Kings”.

Despite the standoffish demeanor most of the crew on Discovery know him by, Paul Stamets is a man of deep feelings.

_Otherwise,_ Hugh thinks, _why would he work so hard to hide them?_

Stress and shock, however, mean that his reaction to losing Straal is locked down more tightly than anything he's ever witnessed. Hugh knows it’s for the best when he takes an early lunch and returns to their quarters to help his partner prepare for the away mission to the Glenn. He can’t afford any distractions for the next few hours, not when they're going to salvage equipment in who knows what state because no on even knows what caused the accident. 

After that is another story.

Paul is quiet as Hugh checks that his tactical vest is fastened and helps him adjust the thigh holster. The phaser looks awkward and out of place with science silver, doubly so for someone who despises violence and weapons. The change in demeanor while wearing a phaser is clear, Paul standing as though it's a huge weight that he can't ignore. As a physician, Hugh isn’t fond of them either, knows intimately what they can do to living beings although he concedes the necessity of defense. Paul though, might actually hate them more than Hugh and Tracy do. 

He won't let Hugh see him off from the shuttle bay, demurring with a muttered comment about Landry in the turbolift. Much as Landry's martial bent rubs Paul the wrong way - her passing comments about pampered scientists aside - Hugh trusts her to look after her crewmates when it comes to security matters. She may not like his partner much, but he knows she won't be any less vigilant in his protection. 

Hugh pulls him into a small observation port before he goes, draws him into his arms and holds on tightly. Paul doesn't speak, but the back of Hugh's uniform jacket bunches beneath his fingers as he buries his face in the side of Hugh's neck and inhales deeply. Hugh releases him with a gentle but firm kiss to the temple, straightens the tactical vest, and receives one final squeeze of Paul's hand before his partner pulls the invisible armor of Lieutenant Stamets back on and departs.

After the shuttle launches, Hugh takes one last long look through the viewport at the glow of the impulse engines, then returns to the medbay. Tracy and Aisha are going about with business as usual in preparation for an away mission to any potentially hostile location, and neither says a word about the worried look on his face. Rather, Aisha rests a comforting hand on his arm in passing, and Tracy increases her complaints about minor things to draw him into banter. It's appreciated, even if he remains distracted.

He counts the minutes of Paul's mission, even as he smiles and carries out a routine wellness exam. Then he throws himself into reviewing the week's logs and files, sorting and signing off with brisk efficiency and a single-minded focus that still fails to distract him from his concerns. 

It's a very long two hours and seventeen minutes.

His blood freezes, heart in his throat when Saru notifies Medical to expect injuries and adds that the team suffered an irretrievable casualty. Behind his doctor's mask of calm, his thoughts spiral, morbid detachment as he considers the implications of not even having a body to bury. Imagines himself never seeing his face again, unable to hold him one last time, no final kiss farewell. 

_Not Paul. _

_Not Paul. _

_Not Paul. _

_Please come back to me._

Hugh repeats it over and over, a mantra of supplication. Even when he was commanding the medical facility on Starbase 12, too far from Earth and Utopia Planitia during Discovery's construction, the daily low-level worry for Paul was never so intense as the few minutes he has to wait. A stray thought wanders across his mind, of the stories he'd read of centuries past, waiting for a loved one to return from war in an age that had yet to birth communication beyond handwritten letters. He feels a kinship to those left behind, beseeching the universe and whatever powers might be to bring his love home safely. 

He doesn't pretend to be doing anything else when his eyes keep straying to the crew manifest, waiting for the six names not onboard to become five returned. 

_ **>> Landry, Ellen, Commander, Security** _

Tracy casually wanders over, fiddling with a scanner. 

_ **>> Tilly, Sylvia, Cadet, Engineering **_

She doesn't look at him or say anything, just comes to stand beside him, leaning into his shoulder.

_ **>> Bryce, Ronald Altman, Ensign, Operations** _

_ **>> Burnham, Michael, NR** _

He starts holding his breath, the moment crystallizing around him with perfect clarity.

_ **>> Stamets, Paul, Lieutenant, Engineering (Sciences)** _

It goes against his medical training, but he thinks he could be forgiven for his relief that it's someone else who died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two is next - what happens after the credits roll?


	230. Sanctuary, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of "Context Is For Kings" (aka 2,000+ words of Culmets tears and comfort sex).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly bittersweet ending.

Paul Stamets is also a man of few friends. 

Of his acquaintances, professional and personal alike, moving past his many walls to be called a friend is rare. Rarer still are the ones he counts among his close friends, and Justin Straal is at the top of that list for their mutual love of astromycology and long standing scientific partnership. They balance each other, Paul's quiet intensity and Straal's cheerful sociable nature, and the shared history built on the foundation of Paul's life's work stretched years prior to Alpha Centauri. He was the first person in Paul's life that Hugh was introduced to (Paul accidentally met Tracy when she commed the morning after their first night), long before any members of the Stamets family. And while they bickered, disagreed, and sometimes argued over the science, Straal is the one person - other than Hugh himself - who Paul is never willing to stay mad at. 

Hugh's always gotten on well with Justin, particularly when it comes to all things Paul. In the beginning, it just took a look to know that they were both in the same boat when Paul went off on a scientific rant or complained about people standing too close on public transports. Later, there was casual conversation about opera (Justin delighted in teasing Paul about his dislike of "your true love's true love!"), Straal a friendly face and ally no matter the situation. The thought of him dead is...

Well, it hasn't really sunk in yet for him.

More to the point, his own reaction isn't important right now, not when he's standing in their quarters where Paul is staring blankly ahead. After reassuring himself that Paul was physically unharmed save for a few small scrapes and burns, he'd guided his partner by the elbow back home. The lack of resistance to a very public display of their relationship tells him all he needs to know about Paul's current state of mind, that and the fact that Paul just stops, swaying in place but otherwise unmoving when Hugh lets go again.

He brushes a soft kiss over Paul's cheek, sighing when there's no sign of acknowledgement. Instead of trying to engage verbally, Hugh drops to his knees and frees Paul first of the phaser holster and then stands to remove the tactical vest. Both of those get stacked on a chair, and the sight when he turns back around breaks his heart.

His partner trembles, tiny shakes that he can't seem to control but also aren't enough to express the depth of his grief. Paul seems smaller beneath the gear, shrunken in on himself as though he's withdrawn from the extremities of his own body. Eyelashes damp with tears that refuse to spill, Hugh can see the emotions trying to break free, but he’s held them in for too long to let go of them easily. 

_So much pain._

"Sweetheart?"

Hugh reaches out slowly, moving until they're toe to toe, until Paul should be able to feel his body heat. He's not expecting it when Paul flinches back sharply at the touch to his cheek, glassy eyes struggling to focus and breath coming in gasps.

"Hey," he pitches his voice quietly, "it's okay. You're okay, love."

Paul's clenched fists fly open, shoulders raised and rigid as if he's expecting a blow that never falls.

_Fuck. _

_This is beyond not good._

"It's just me," Hugh murmurs, hand on Paul's chest over his pounding heart, "I'm right here."

A sharp head shake.

"Are yo- ooooppphhh!"

Hugh's back hits the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs in a surprised huff. He doesn't have long to process, because Paul's following a second later, crowding him against the bulkhead with his body. His eyes are dark, stormy, jaw tense and chest heaving as Hugh tries to free the hand still trapped between them. There's something more at work than mourning, something Hugh recognizes from this terrible war in the dilated pupils and flushed skin: the post-battle crash, an unconscious physical manifestation of survival at its most basic. He has an inkling, then, of where tonight might be headed.

"Sweethea-"

With a small cry, Paul surges forward for a desperate kiss, mouths pressed together so tightly that he can feel his teeth digging into the inside of his lips. Hugh's eyes fall shut automatically, parting his lips and inviting him into his mouth, standing still and receptive even as Paul's tongue is rough, stroking, probing, seeking something that he knows he can't provide but wishes with all his might that it could be otherwise. After a couple of minutes, he tries to slow it down, to gentle it, but Paul's knee works its way between Hugh's thighs, growing erection trapped as he ruts against Hugh's hip. One hand fists in his collar, tearing the snap on the white fabric open, the other behind his head as he’s held in place. 

Hugh draws in a ragged breath when his mouth is abruptly freed, almost immediately turning to a moan as stubble rasps over his throat. Paul's lips are hot against his skin, teeth and tongue working his neck with a hungry growl. He licks Hugh’s pulse over and over, burying his nose in the spot just below his ear and sucking at the side of his throat.

It's far from unpleasant as a physical experience in and of itself. The urge to submit to the whirlwind of want is almost overwhelming, to let go and simply feel. His own pants are growing tight, body responding to this rare assertiveness, and he wants to melt into the fevered grasp. He wonders if he should try to talk Paul down, to soothe him with words and maybe then attempt careful lovemaking. Hugh's certain if he resists or asks him to stop, he'll be released. That's never in question. And yet, if it offers him a measure of comfort, of solace, then Hugh will give it gladly. Still-

"Ti-" he pushes firmly on Paul's chest to interrupt the kiss as he claims Hugh’s mouth again, "time out, babe."

The long-honored words penetrate the frenzied haze after a scant few moments. Paul shudders with the effort, but he freezes as Hugh's bottom lip slips free from between his teeth, eyes open wide and glazed as he forces his hips to still their desperate motion. He swallows convulsively, then ever so slowly works his clenched fingers open and lets his hands fall to his sides. His lips are kiss-swollen and red, chin smeared with saliva, and Hugh curls his toes against the primal _desire_ heating his blood at the sight.

"...Hugh."

He sways, starts to take a step back, and Hugh catches his wrists, using his thumbs to rub circles over his hammering pulse. 

"Shh, it's all right." 

The tips of their noses brush with every breath, and he watches as Paul's gaze pulls in from a thousand yards, sharpening into focus. He licks his lips, tongue darting pink over delicate skin, and Hugh is all too aware of the fact that they're both aroused, bodies fitted together from shoulders to knees. 

"Is this what you need?"

Hugh strokes his cheek with the back of his fingers, waits. Eventually, he responds with something halfway between a nod and a head shake.

”Do you want...would talking help?”

This time he gets a definite motion of negation.

"Paul..."

Eyes closing briefly, he swallows hard again and locates his words. Hugh can see the effort it takes, as if he has to translate his thoughts into a foreign language.

"I need- need to _feel_ you. Please?"

The sound of a throat raw with emotion demands he protect, comfort, shelter. 

"Okay," he nods, pressing a gentle kiss to Paul's lips, "can we move to the bed though?"

A jerky nod.

He nudges Paul back enough to properly remove his uniform, jacket and pants left in a pile by his boots. The fact that Paul does much the same, foregoing his fastidious tidying, is yet another worrying thing. There’s not much to be done about it now. Stepping out of his briefs, he settles on the sheets and holds out his hands. 

“Come to bed, love.”

Paul makes a small, wounded noise as their bare skin meets. He’s shivering, and Hugh pulls up the duvet, rubs circles with his palms on Paul’s back to warm him. This time, he gives himself over when Paul’s mouth descends on his again, the kiss less rough than before but still frantic. 

Hugh lets his legs fall open, draws his feet up flat on the sheets to give Paul a cradle to thrust into. He wonders if that will be sufficient, the kisses and closeness, if Paul will chase an orgasm before he finally lets go. It seems unlikely to stop there though, when scrabbling hands sear fiery paths over Hugh’s arms, his sides. Despite his body responding, the touch clearly isn’t meant to arouse but to reassure Paul of his closeness, clinging to Hugh fiercely.

There’s a question in his eyes, shining with moisture, when he breaks the kiss. Hugh gazes up at him steadily, patient as Paul seems to be having a conversation with himself. He waits until he has his full attention again before nodding and reaching towards the nightstand drawer and handing him the bottle. Paul’s hands are shaking too much to have fine motor control, spilling a puddle of lube over Hugh’s stomach. He looks relieved when Hugh brushes aside his hand and resumes the kiss, dragging his own fingers through the slick and slipping down between their bodies. 

He prepares himself as quickly as possible, efficient motions nothing like the playful games or gentle loving they shared on other nights. As soon as he deems himself ready, he slicks his palm and gives Paul’s erection a few strokes before guiding him inside. Despite the circumstances, he still revels in the way his love’s eyes go glassy as he bottoms out in one long slide.

“...fuck...”

There's a momentary pinch of muscles stretched too fast, and Hugh can't suppress the tiny hiss of discomfort. At the sound, the haze clears and Paul looks horrified at himself, at his actions. Before he can pull back, Hugh locks his ankles behind the small of his back.

“Stay.”

He wraps his arms around Paul’s shaking shoulders, rocks his hips carefully. Hugh knows his lover, knows that when pushed to the limits, insecurity and doubt cloud his mind. For close to a minute, Paul is absolutely still. Then he pulls almost all the way out and shoves back in again.

Hard.

Paul sets a nearly brutal rhythm, one he recognizes as an attempt to chase away any thought through physical exertion. It’s not the most comfortable sex they’ve had, but Hugh used more than enough lube that the sting soon fades into a rough sort of pleasure. He ignores Paul’s belly rubbing the underside of his own erection, focused on his partner’s face, waiting. There’s no noise in the room other than the mattress creaking beneath his back, the silence far from usual. Paul’s biting his own lip hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood, almost as though he’s afraid to let any sound loose at all.

_Almost there._

He uses his heels and powerful thigh muscles to pull Paul even deeper on the next thrust, and he stiffens above Hugh, a gasp working its way free.

_Closer_.

A second noise, a breathless moan, joins it.

“Let go,” he manages even as he works his hips to meet Paul’s harder, “let go.”

Paul blinks and a single tear escapes, rolling down his cheek to splash on the dip of Hugh’s collarbone. It’s enough, and the dam bursts. Tensing, Paul gives a wordless cry, not in ecstasy but grief. More tears now, tracing luminous tracks over his flushed cheeks, and he tries to hide his face in Hugh’s chest.

“Shhh,” he murmurs into Paul’s ear, tucking his head beneath his chin, “I’ve got you. Have me, take what you need.”

Half a sob, only partly suppressed, and Paul’s hips stutter, losing his rhythm.

“I’m here, love,” he repeats, over and over, feeling Paul’s tears hot on his neck. “Let it out. Let go.”

Inside, Paul’s erection starts to fade, and Hugh ruthlessly quashes the part of himself that’s disappointed as he slips free from Hugh’s body. He tumbles them onto their sides, rocking Paul back and forth and whispering wordless sounds of comfort. Kisses his temple, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Runs his fingers through sweaty hair, working out the tangles and smoothing it back, over and over. 

”...why? I- I...why Justin?”

Paul's voice is muffled against his skin, and Hugh wraps his arms more tightly around Paul’s shaking shoulders. 

“I don’t know, love. I’m so sorry.”

He’s not sure how long it takes Paul to cry himself out, his own silent tears mingling with Paul’s. When it’s quieted to the occasional shuddering dry sob, he uses a corner of the sheet to dab the wetness away from Paul’s swollen nose and kisses him softly, tasting bitter salt and grief.

”...promise...”

Paul’s saying something against his lips, and he draws back to listen.

"...don't le- I can't lose you. Please. Promise me, H-Hugh...promise..."

It would be so easy to say, but that's not how it is between them, not even the little lies. He takes a moment to think of what vow he _can _give Paul, freely and without reservation.

"I promise, sweetheart," he takes Paul's face in his hands, raising his head until they're looking each other in the eyes, "that I love you, and I will stay with you for the rest of my life. I will never willingly leave you, not until my last breath."

At last, the ghost of a smile flits over his lips. A nuzzle becomes a kiss, careful and slow, then another and another until arousal returns. Hugh gathers them both together in his hand, stroking with the same gentleness and murmuring his love for Paul until it overwhelms them. They lie in each other’s arms after, sharing the pillow, bodies heavy with exhaustion.

Several minutes after Paul’s eyes drift completely closed and Hugh thinks he might actually have fallen asleep, he speaks again.

"Till death do us part?"

Theres no hesitation needed.

"And beyond."

_Forever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight deviation from "When Sorrow Turns To Joy" describing Paul's reaction to Straal's death as picking a fight with Hugh and getting drunk. This felt like it fits better here.


	231. Sleepy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex isn't always about penetration.

He wakes to Paul's hand on his shoulder, light but insistent.

"Hugh?"

"...mmmm..."

The hand migrates up the side of his neck, fingers stroking his jaw. It's a tender touch, and Hugh hums with pleasure when it turns to gently scratching his beard. He's just about to drift back off when there's a draft as Paul pushes back the covers and a weight lands on Hugh's thighs.

_What?_

Hugh peels one eye partway open, waiting for the vague shadows to resolve into familiar shapes, and assesses the situation. Paul's kicked the duvet all the way down to the end of the bed, straddling Hugh's legs and sitting back on his heels. He doesn't seem to have woken from a nightmare, but instead is chewing his lower lip with a slightly sheepish smile.

"Hi."

Giving in, Hugh opens the other eye and readjusts the pillow under his head, propping himself a bit higher.

"Everything okay?"

A nod.

"Can't sleep?"

"Umm."

Paul's fingers are fiddling with the stretched out collar of Hugh's shirt, rolling the edge between thumb and forefinger. That reminds him of exactly why he was sleeping so soundly, and he smiles, remembering their evening. Speaking of..._yes, Paul's still naked_. The only reason Hugh's still wearing his shirt is because they didn't get around to taking it off, although he sees that Paul's managed to at least untangle the pants twisted around his own ankles when Hugh passed out on the sweaty sheets.

"Babe?"

With a sigh, Paul shifts on his lap enough for something firm to prod his hip.

_Oh._

Hugh can't help the laugh, low and amused.

"You-" he's interrupted by a yawn, "are insatiable tonight."

"Sorry."

He sounds the very opposite, but Hugh replies anyway.

"Don't be sorry."

With a wry smile, Paul scrubs a hand across his own face and drags his fingers through hopelessly mussed blond hair. Then he reaches down to cradle Hugh's soft dick in his hand, thumb rubbing just under the head.

"I want you."

"You have me. I'm-" he yawns again, "probably not going to be able to give you a repeat performance from earlier though."

A grin, then he slides towards Hugh's knees and leans down. He doesn't bother with slow licking and teasing, just gets straight to business sucking. The feeling of his tongue fluttering along the underside and lips sealed tight sends a tingle of excitement down to his groin, but it's more a languid echo of desire than true arousal. Paul's enjoying himself as usual though, humming quietly while he works and eyes sparkling with mischief when he glances up. Despite his best efforts, Hugh barely twitches, and after a few minutes he gently tugs on Paul's hair to get his attention.

"Sorry love, I don't think I can fuck you silly for an hour again," Hugh murmurs with regret.

Paul looks vaguely disappointed for a moment, but places a final sweet kiss on the tip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling back up Hugh's body.

"Wore you out, mmm?"

"I can-" another yawn, "take care of that for you?"

He tries for an alluring smile as he reaches down, but his hand doesn't seem to want to cooperate with its usual dexterity and he ends up frowning instead.

"I'll be fine."

"That...mmmm...hardly seems fair."

Hugh's protest earns a chuckle, and Paul rocks against his thigh a little.

"I can take care of it," he nuzzles Hugh's jaw, "go back to sleep."

Drowsy logic tells him that he wants to do more, despite Paul's reassurances to the contrary. He can't leave his love hard and wanting like that, can he?

_Unacceptable._

The lube is between their pillows, and he passes it to Paul, ignoring his bemused expression as he rolls over onto his stomach.

"Go ahead."

A warm hand on his lower back, and lips beside his ear.

"Umm. Should I...?"

Hugh shoves his arms under the pillow, folding them and getting comfortable, spreading his legs slightly.

"Whatever you want, love. F'you don't mind me not bein' awake?"

He wonders for a moment if too much of that was lost in the pillowcase, but then he feels a huff of air across his shoulder.

_Paul likes that._

"Mmm. I see."

The sheets rustle, and he hears the distinctive sound of a cap being unsnapped. He sighs, squirming a bit as cool liquid runs down the cleft of his ass to puddle on his balls. 

_What?_

"...think you missed," he mumbles.

Knees nudge his legs back together, Paul moving to straddle him.

"Nope."

Hugh gives a content hum as his love's weight settles on his back, arms coming around his shoulders and knees to either side of Hugh's own legs. Then something stiff and hot is being slotted between his thighs, and Paul's intent becomes clear. They spend a few seconds adjusting, crossing his ankles to create an even snugger fit as Paul wiggles until his erection is pressed intimately against him.

"I love you," tickles the shell of his ear, and he smiles into the pillow.

" 've you too."

Unlike the vigorous lovemaking of earlier, this is slow and easy. Hugh does his best to stay awake, occasionally shifting beneath him to tighten his grip. Paul's cheek is warm on the back of his neck, his sighs and moans breathed into Hugh's shoulder as he thrusts into the slippery space. Lube and sweat dampen his inner thighs, mixing with pre-come and probably staining the sheets even further, but Hugh can't find it in himself to be bothered by the fact that he's going to be sleeping in the wet spot. He's safe here, and so loved.

"Fuck..." Paul gasps, "you're - ohh! You're so good to me. Gi- give me so much..."

Too tired to find words, Hugh slides a hand down to lace their fingers together under his collarbone as they rock faster. 

"Close..."

Smiling with his eyes closed, Hugh flexes his back muscles and rolls his shoulders and is rewarded with a sharp cry as damp skin rubbing over Paul's nipples sends him crashing over the edge.

_Yes._

He's vaguely aware of Paul peeling himself off of him, cooler air over heated skin making him shiver. A towel swipes between his legs, then Paul snuggles into his side and pulls the covers back up. He's on the verge of surrendering to sleep when he feels a kiss to his shoulder, taking that down into his dreams.

And if he wakes up in the morning stuck to the sheets, well, Paul's only too eager to apologize and make it up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heading into a budget meeting.
> 
> Something to make up for the angst in the last two chapters.


	232. Susurration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title prompt from ElenAranel <3

Adira holds their breath as they gingerly set foot in Paul and Hugh's quarters. Technically, they're welcome any time, but it's 0200 and they decide it's probably less disruptive to let themself in than if they commed ahead and woke one of them up. Gray follows behind them, incongruously barefoot and yawning. Adira almost shushes him out of habit as they cross the threshold, tiptoeing in.

They let their eyes adjust to the darkness, silhouettes of furniture illuminated only by the stars through the viewports. On the bed, Paul and Hugh seem to be curled together in a single mound of covers, and they let their breath out slowly when they don't stir as the doors swish shut. Relaxing just a little, they carefully detour around the coffee table and settle on the couch, pulling the folded throw off the arm and getting comfortable beneath it. 

Gray doesn't comment, just sits down at Adira's feet and stares until they close their eyes. He'd woken them from a nightmare, frustrated at his inability to actually hold them for comfort. Adira was too shaken to get back to sleep, and it had actually been Gray's idea to go see Paul and Hugh. 

_Okay, maybe he said 'talk to them', but this should work too, right?_

Although Adira doesn't remember their parents, they've read enough stories and watched enough holonovels to know that it's sort of like sneaking into their parents' bedroom for comfort. They're not going to actually climb into bed with them - because, _weird_ \- but they can sense their presence across the room. Being in Paul and Hugh's quarters is always oddly soothing, as if Adira could feel the calm connection between them, and tonight is no different. 

The covers rustle as someone shifts in the bed, sighing before they still again. Another whisper of the sheets, and a quiet thump of a hand making uncoordinated contact with a body part is followed by the snores abruptly cutting off with a sleepy noise of protest and something that sounds an awful like "hmmmmphhhh" from one of them. 

A couple of minutes pass, and the snoring starts again. 

In the dark, Adira grins. Paul might make a show of complaining about Hugh's snuffly snores, but they form a background noise that chases away the shadows lurking at the edges of their mind. It blends into its own sort of lullaby, and they feel the tension drain from their shoulders as they finally let sleep claim them again.

****

In the bed, Paul nudges Hugh for the umpteenth time. It earns him a sleepy grumble as his partner steals the covers and rolls back to his side from the middle of the bed, unconscious form radiating mild displeasure. He waits a perfectly reasonable ten seconds to see if he can fall back asleep, then pushes up on his elbow to try and at least free the duvet from under Hugh's shoulder. 

It's a lost cause, of course, the covers wound too securely around him to budge. He briefly debates waking Hugh up again, but that's likely to get him a grumpy huff and a temporary refusal of cuddles. Sighing, he crawls to the edge of the bed and takes a few steps towards the couch, intending to retrieve the throw. He's thankfully more awake than asleep, and is able to control his surprised yelp into a high-pitched squeak when he finds that it's already been claimed by someone who wasn't there when he and Hugh went to bed.

Adira is fully asleep but unsettled, and he can just make out a small frown on their face. He's not sure if they'll still be there in the morning, or if they'll even want to talk about whatever brought them sneaking in at this hour, but part of him is inordinately pleased that they decided to come. Shuffling across the floor, he palms the wardrobe door open and pulls down two blankets from the top shelf, shaking them out as he turns back. One is a standard issue 'Fleet blanket, but the lines of stitching under his fingers tell him that the other is the patterned quilt Aida gave to Hugh when he left Earth on his first starship posting. He tucks the fabric around Adira's shoulders, thinking of the nights spent snuggling with Hugh beneath it with a smile. The years of happiness and contentment must have somehow imbued it with soothing qualities (the rational side of his brain insists it's just the added weight), because Adira's restless movement stills almost immediately. 

Satisfied, he returns to the bed to find that the sheets thankfully haven't cooled much in his absence. He yawns before wrapping the blanket around himself and spooning up behind Hugh, intent on stealing some of his partner's warmth. The pillowcase crinkles under his cheek as he does so, pajamas catching on the sheets, and he tugs the blanket a bit higher before stuffing his nose into the nape of Hugh's neck. 

In the morning, they'll probably both be on Paul's side of the bed, Hugh nearly edging him off the mattress and covers discarded. For now though, warm and cozy, he sleeps.


	233. Sext

Tracy looks up from the PADD in her hand, forkful of tortellini poised halfway between the plate and her mouth, but both of her lunch companions seem to be busy with their own reading. She writes off the slight rattle of the table to one of them shifting a boot, carefully chews her pasta, and goes back to the romance novel that Tilly (of all people) had recommended. It’s absolutely trashy in the best possible way, florid and overblown prose and descriptions of acts that verged on campy to the point that Tracy wonders if it’s meant as an intentional parody. 

The main triad, after an exchange dripping with innuendo so thick she has to stifle a snicker in her coffee, have just beamed back aboard their vessel following a transporter malfunction that failed to materialize their clothing. She’s just gotten to the part about “_his sculpted chest heaved with perspiration, the pebbled peaks upon them grown firm with anticipation and his girthy member barely concealed by the console as he imagined plunging into the sweet valley of her bosom” _when Hugh twitches again, knee banging into the table. He throws a half-hearted glare at Paul who’s studiously ignoring him, and Tracy controls the urge to roll her eyes. 

_Men._

_Or, more specifically, these two._

They’re probably in the middle of a minor squabble - who stole the covers, Paul stepping on Hugh’s wet towel, Tracy’s heard it all - with a petty tit for tat going on. Not knowing the stakes and who’s at fault, she parks the thought to ask Hugh once they’re back in the medbay and finds her place in the text again.

_”His manhood rose rampant, throbbing like a ripe plum as he considered plundering their lover’s mouth, his masculine musk overwhelming-“_

Paul makes a frustrated sound under his breath, tapping furiously on his PADD. Next to her, Hugh crosses his legs and clears his throat, a deceptively mild expression on his face. She can see the tiniest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, and reevaluates the situation. Shaking her head at the realization that it’s a different kind of provocation, she returns to her reading.

_”his masculine musk overwhelming him until he bursts hot in his pants, spilling his seed-“_

A booted foot glides up her ankle. Tracy sets down her PADD and fixes a glare at them both. 

“Aren’t you two a little old to be playing footsie under the table?”

She’s met with two innocent looks that completely fail to convince her.

”What are you-“

”Trace-“

”That,” she points at Paul with her fork, “was my leg.”

He has the grace to look mildly chagrined.

”Sorry.”

She gets three more pages in when a stifled snicker from Hugh makes him accidentally elbow her. Instead of saying anything, she pointedly moves her chair an inch to the right away from him.

_”Their passion leapt higher as flames burn and catch dry leaves, her cries like the tinkling of bells and their grunts like wild animals in rut. She-“_

Hugh’s now tapping furiously at his PADD too, and she glances over briefly, expecting to see annotations on a file or a comm to his grandmother. 

_[Sweetheart] I want to slide under this table._

_>> And then?_

_[Sweetheart] Unzip your pants with my teeth. _

_>> Tell me more._

_[Sweetheart] You’ll have to wait and find out. 1500, cultivation bay_

_>> Oh? You’re talking a big game._

_[Sweetheart] Very big. And it’s all your fault. I’m going to bend you over a console and-_

“Not that I’m not thrilled that you two are still going at it like a pair of hormonal Risan bunnies, but seriously? You’re worse than this,” she waves the PADD, “and that’s saying _a lot._”

”Sorry.”

”Are we actually sorry?”

”I mean, sort of?”

”Not really.”

”True.”

Groaning in an only slightly exaggerated fashion, Tracy drops her forehead to the table. 

_Spare me._


	234. Souvenir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissue alert.
> 
> Chapter title refers to the usage of souvenir as the French word for "memory" or "remember".
> 
> Follows on [Chapter 138 ("Secret").](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217656/chapters/67766339)

Paul's only too happy to be off shift for the day, rubbing the bridge of his nose to ease the ache from hours spent peering at the inside of a conduit with Reno. The discomfort is less about being stuck in a small space with Reno's (admittedly clever) jabs and more about squinting to make out the details. Of course they both had their tricorders and magnifiers, but he's never really gotten used to the parallax of working at that scale on a blown-up version. He has no idea how Hugh manages to do microsurgery with a stereotactic interface - for hours and with both hands, even - without giving himself a migraine. Luckily, this feels like a simple headache that a quick analgesic will fix. He could have stopped by the medbay for one, but Hugh should already be home and the relief of pain following the clinical efficiency by the medical staff couldn't hold a candle to the gentle touch of Hugh's fingers on his neck and his breath gusting even and warm over Paul's skin when he peels back his collar to administer the hypospray. 

They have a couple of hours before Movie Night (Tilly and Adira's suggestion that Detmer, Owo, and the rest quickly adopted), enough time for a quick meal and maybe cleaning up first. Hugh's probably already finished his evening meditation too, which should mean he's free to join Paul in the shower. With that in mind, he's careful not to make too much noise as he comes in just in case, expecting to find him sprawled on the couch reading or listening to music. 

Instead, the lights are at 10%, leaving their quarters almost completely dark. Paul pauses, unzipping his boots and setting them aside with a small frown. 

"Hugh?"

He listens for a response, would be certain that his partner has dozed off or maybe decided to take a run, save for the fact that his shoes are still in the corner where he kicked them off yesterday, and both bed and couch are empty. There's a rustle of fabric and a sigh that leads him around to the other side of the partition, although he still can't see anyth-

_Oh._

Hugh's sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and Aida's quilt around his shoulders. Paul's not sure what the air surrounding him is, nothing so concrete as tears shining in his eyes or any expression of overt emotion. Rather, he looks pensive, gaze directed at the viewport but not seemingly focused on anything in particular.

"Hi."

Hugh's voice is quiet, even. He doesn't look at Paul, but he can feel his attention shifting. Paul's always been the one more likely to be brooding or moody, with Hugh preferring to work out his stress and negative emotions through activity. This doesn't feel volatile, but it's still odd enough that he's not sure what Hugh needs. Sighing, he unzips and tosses his jacket over a chair and lowers himself to the floor beside him. Hugh holds out his arm and Paul scoots closer, enveloping him under the warm fabric.

"Is...everything okay?"

He doesn't answer for a few breaths, and Paul waits impatiently, snuggling into his side. Then-

"Yes. Just..." Hugh rests his temple against the top of Paul's head, "thinking."

"About?"

"Nella became a mycologist."

That's nowhere near what Paul might have expected to hear, and he feels his mouth falling open.

"...what?"

Hugh uses his toes to nudge a heretofore unnoticed PADD on the floor beside them. The screen comes to life, showing a photo of a young woman holding an award and the headline _"Promising junior scientist wins Nature award for discovery of new fungal species"_. With a jolt, he recognizes those expressive eyes and wide smile, feels his eyes sting. Nella had grown out of the awkward teenage stage and into her striking features, the tilt of her head and toothy grin a perfect match to Hugh.

"I onl- I was afraid to look. To know. Not that it could change the past, but...I wasn't ready until now."

He swallows audibly, shaking his head a little.

"This came with it."

Paul can't seem to find his voice, just cuddles closer as Hugh taps another command and a holo springs to life in front of them.

_"Doctor Culber."_

Fleet Captain Christopher Pike's face has a few more lines than Paul remembers, but the compassionate expression hasn't changed.

_"Number One assures me that this encryption will hold and only be triggered by certain access to the Federation data core. I'm not an expert in all the details, but I hope that this message finds you well. Doctor, I delivered your message as requested, although in strictest confidence as the official record does not reflect the whole of the matter. Please know that while I am aware of the contents, it was only because it was necessary for me to do so in person."_

Pike's image stills for a moment, then he sighs.

_"You'll understand that it wasn't possible to tell your families the whole truth. I am sorry for that, but for the safety of the Federation it was deemed necessary." _

_"I- your grandmother was an amazing woman. I'm sure it will not be any easier to know from where you are of...loss. S_ _he asked me- I'd like to honor her passing, Doctor, with a message."_

Hugh's breath hitches, and Paul hugs him tightly. 

_"_ _She said that she knows you have found each other again, and that she loves her grandsons dearly." _

The holo of Pike seems to look directly at them, across the centuries. His posture straightens to attention, words crisp as any Captain's oration in a time of great need.

_"I'm sorry to have lost out on the opportunity to welcome you aboard Enterprise as part of my medical staff, but I understand your decision and hope that you've found happiness. __Given that your grandmother is not someone who seems to ever be wrong,"_ a ghost of a smile flits across his face, _"please extend my most sincere regards to Commander Stamets. Discovery's deed may not be widely known, but you have the utmost respect and humblest thanks from me and my crew. Godspeed, Doctor. Pike out." _

Neither of them speak, but the tears that come are cleansing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So their thirty-second century commbadges may have built in PADDs, but I imagine a lot of the Discovery crew is still more comfortable with actual devices.
> 
> I set out just to write Hugh reading up on Nella's accomplishments, but it grew from there to include Pike. I honestly believe that he would have found a way to let "his" crew on Discovery know that their messages were delivered.


	235. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another installment of SpaceSiblings.

“It’s...beautiful.”

Adira’s voice is quiet and awed, and Tilly smiles at the reverence in it. She’d felt much the same the first time she’d climbed up here, escaping a day of perceived failures and frustration when Lorca was driving Stamets to the edge of everyone’s sanity. Now, she pats the duranium plating at her side and waits patiently for her companion to close their mouth and sit. 

They don’t lose the look of wonder though, and for that she’s grateful. Tilly loves her crewmates, the ones she’s grown closest to like Rhys and Detmer and Owo (_and Stamets and Culber_, her mind points out), but they’re all career Starfleet officers. Michael, though she still loves her too, has drifted and grown different somehow in their year apart. There’s hard edges to her that weren’t there before, a restless and volatile energy that Tilly isn’t quite sure what to make of. 

And she’s tried.

In Adira, she recognizes the same sense of amazement and delight that makes them a kindred spirit of sorts. A fresh perspective, regardless of era, whose own experiences left them feeling isolated from others in a way that reminds Tilly of herself. The same oblique shifts in reasoning, and drive to try to innovate for the sake of it that resonate so well with Stamets. And, honestly, a connection with their erstwhile mentor. She’s horribly happy for Adira bonding with the two of them, doesn’t begrudge them spending so much time with Stamets and Culber off duty when she knows there’s always a spot at the table by the viewport for her too. Despite her stint as first officer, she knows it’ll be a long time - if ever - before she doesn’t seek approval from her quasi-parental figure. Yet, she doesn’t need it the same way Adira so clearly does right now, more able to stand with her own confidence because of him.

”Tilly?”

”Hmm?”

She blinks back to find Adira peering at her with trepidation.

”Is everything okay?”

”Oh. Yes? Yes. Just,” she grins, “remembering my first view of the nacelles from up here.”

“It’s...wow.”

Adira falls silent, picking at a hangnail. The blue glow and hum of the nacelle is almost meditative, hypnotic in its thrum of power. It’s a comfortable silence, and Tilly loses track of time until she hears the sound of boots on the access ladder.

“Are you two planning on staying up here all night?”

Dr. Culber’s voice is amused, and she turns to find him with his elbows resting on the deckplate and regarding them with one of his warm smiles.

”What time is it?”

”Dinner time,” he reminds them, “I was going to comm, but Paul thought you might have wanted some space?”

Tilly shakes her head, shifting to her knees before climbing to her feet.

”Just wanted to show Adira that this outdated museum-“ she nudges them with her elbow, “still has some pretty interesting stuff.”

He nods, then shifts aside to let them precede him down the ladder. Tilly gestures for Adira to go first, then follows. As she’d half-expected, Stamets is waiting for them in the corridor below. She smirks at his appreciative expression when Dr. Culber makes his descent, and even more at Adira’s bemusement when they catch the doctor winking at his partner. 

_No_, she thinks as they head for the mess hall, _no problem at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random image of Tilly and Adira sitting up in the nacelle popped into my head, and I just let the story take me where it wanted to go.


	236. Swamp

When the landing party returns, Hugh is waiting to greet them. He’s expecting the crates of specimens that accompany them, and that they’ll probably all be as tired as Paul sounded when he commed half an hour ago, exhaustion warring with excitement. They shimmer into existence, light wreathing three figures, and he’s already smiling.

Sure enough, they’re all mud-streaked, Tilly’s normally red hair tangled with some sort of vegetation and Paul’s hands a dingy grey. What he’s not expecting - at all - is the _smell_.

“You stink.”

His partner narrows his eyes.

”Hello to you too.”

To Paul’s left, Adira swipes at a dead leaf stuck to their arm. They shuffle towards the edge of the platform, and a sound like sloshing water follows.

”Going to tell me what happened?” 

Hugh crosses his arms for lack of anything else to do since his usual greeting after Paul’s been gone for several days went out the airlock the moment his lover returned smelling like a sewer. Sighing, Tilly slogs her way towards him, flushing when Hugh takes a step back.

“Sorry, Doctor. We umm...”

”There was a swamp,” Adira pipes in, pulling off the offending boot and pouring a stream of dirty water out of it before jamming their foot back inside. 

”There was a swamp, and you all decided to bathe in it?”

Hugh gives up any pretense of being professional and covers his nose and mouth with his hand. Undeterred, Paul rolls his eyes and follows the other two forward. His normally blond hair has taken on a distinctly greenish hue, and there are large specks of what looks like algae clinging to the limp strands plastered to his head.

He drops the hand from his face the moment Paul grimaces and hisses in pain while stepping down. Hugh immediately reaches for the scanner at his hip, only to encounter nothing besides the seam of his uniform.

_Still not used to it_.

The tricorder display from his comm badge is activated a moment later, taking Paul’s vitals and checking for injuries. Sure, he could ask, but from the combination of guilty and mildly chagrined expressions on the other three, he doesn’t think he’ll get a straight answer.

”Well,” he flicks the tricorder away, “there was a swamp and you managed to sprain your ankle?”

Normally he would be the first person going to support Paul as he hobbles forward, but the sprain isn’t severe and Tilly and Adira are already gripping his arms, sparing Hugh’s white uniform for the time being. The physician in him overrides everything else, and he beams them all directly to the medbay without further comment. 

”You said you were fine,” Adira mumbles as soon as they rematerialize, cheeks flushing. It’s half accusatory and a whole lot apologetic.

”I am,” Paul insists, even as Tilly helps him up onto the nearest biobed.

Tracy takes one whiff of them, makes quick eye contact with Hugh to assess the situation, then pinches her nose and absents herself.

”Sorry,” Adira addresses Paul’s kneecaps, “it’s my fault.”

”It’s no one’s fault,” Tilly glances at Hugh, “it was an accident.”

”Does someone want to tell me what ‘it’ is?”

Paul’s already dripping a sizable puddle onto the deck as Hugh breathes through his mouth and helps unzip his boot. It comes free with a squelching sound that makes Adira snicker, then he’s rolling up Paul’s pant leg and tugging his sock out of the way. The biobed tells him everything he needs to know, but Hugh does a physical exam anyway, noting the swelling on the outside of the ankle and gently probing with his fingertips.

”There was a sinkhole in the path. We didn’t see it in time before Adira stepped in it.”

Nodding, Hugh administers an analgesic that has Paul sighing in relief.

”Wait- if Adira stepped in it, why are you the one with a sprained ankle?”

”It was sort of the edge of the path? And umm, Commander Stamets went to catch them, because he was closer, but he tripped and then I tried to help but the ground was really slippery and I grabbed this vine but it wasn’t attached so we all sort of...fell into it. The swamp.”

It takes Hugh a moment to parse Tilly’s run on sentence. 

“I see.”

Paul wrinkles his nose, swiping at the water still running out of his hair. 

“Can we please be done here? I’d really, really like a shower about ten minutes ago.”

Hugh’s about to comment on Paul’s overly dramatic delivery, but he catches the look his partner gives him and nods in understanding.

“Swelling will take a while to go down, but it should be fine if you don’t try to stand on it.”

Paul holds up a hand to cut off what is probably another apology from Adira.

”I’m fine, kiddo. Go get cleaned up, we can have dinner and start cataloguing-“ he clears his throat at Hugh’s raised eyebrow, “tomorrow.”

The other two slosh their way out, and Paul gives Hugh a mournful look.

”What?”

”Do I have to wait till after I shower for a kiss hello?”

“I suppose I could make an exception,” Hugh puts on his best long-suffering face, “just this once.”

”Really.”

”I did miss you, sweetheart.”

Hugh hands him a damp towel and waits for Paul to scrub his face before leaning in to share a careful kiss.

”What, no lecture on being more careful on away missions?”

He shakes his head.

”You thought Adira was in danger, so...no.”

Paul gives him a half-smile, rueful. His uniform’s a lost cause, so he helps Paul down to stand on his good foot, arm around his waist.

”Next time, could it not be a swamp though?”

”I stopped being able to smell it on day two.”

Hugh laughs, then immediately regrets inhaling.

”Remember when Linus ate peanut butter and no one wanted to go into the science lab for an hour after because it smelled like rotten eggs?”

”That bad?”

”Worse. Come on, let’s get you home and into the shower so I can hug you properly. Can you manage, or-?”

Paul takes an experimental step, letting Hugh take the weight off his injured side.

”Should be fine.”

Hugh smirks.

”I can always carry you...”

“If you’re not going to hug me, I thought that was out of the question too.”

”Was that a request?”

They’re in the corridor now, and Hugh notices the crew giving them a wide berth. Paul really does reek.

“You could carry me into the shower.”

“Was _that_ a request?”

”Yes.”

”Okay.”

Stinky or not, he’s glad to have him back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all spawned from imagining Adira, Paul, and Tilly having a comedic slow-motion fall into a swamp :P


	237. Sacred

The first night they brush their teeth and climb into bed together again, Hugh thinks his chest might burst with the nervousness and happiness warring behind his sternum. They’ve spent the last several nights cuddled on the couch, falling asleep after hours talking, an unspoken accord that Paul’s bed - _their_ bed - is a larger step to take. For all the things they’ve discussed, neither seemed willing to address it until they were both ready. Thus, the quiet invitation to stay the night had taken him off guard with its intensity, heart racing because he knew what Paul was really asking.

More than sex, sharing a bed has always been deeply intimate for them, and Hugh doesn’t want to get it wrong. He’s acutely aware of the mattress shifting under their weight, how easy it is to let his body move on instinct to make himself comfortable on his side, facing Paul who mirrors his position, knees touching. They’re not sharing a pillow, but he’s close enough to feel Paul’s breath warm on his cheek. Hugh’s slightly disappointed that the sheets are clearly fresh (evidence of Paul planning ahead), not bearing Paul’s scent as strongly as he’d hoped, but it’s a passing thought easily discarded.

Slowly, Paul brings his hand up between their chests, palm facing outwards. His eyes are full of fragile hope, shining with reflected starlight in the darkness. Hugh moves with equal solemnity, matching his left hand to Paul’s right, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Though they’ve kissed every day this week, the feeling of Paul’s lips meeting his here and now feels almost sacred. It deepens but stays slow, sharing breath as the distance between them closes.

_Reunion_.

It isn’t until a strangled moan works its way from Paul’s mouth that Hugh realizes they’re now pressed together from chest to ankles, fingers still entangled. Heat suffuses his skin, the edge of hunger coiled low in his hips speaking of nascent arousal. He loosens the grip his other hand has on Paul’s collar, pulls back with understanding at the slightly panicked expression on Paul’s face. It’s probably similar to the one he’s wearing.

”Too fast-“

”Sorry, I-“

The soft laugh they share at talking over each other diffuses the tension before it starts. 

“You go,” Paul murmurs, “please.”

“I-“ Hugh draws in a slow breath, “...I’m not sure I’m ready for more. Not yet.”

He waits, swallowing hard, for Paul’s answer, even though he’s almost positive of what it will be. They’re not in a place to make assumptions about each other, not as they rebuild from the foundations.

”Me too.”

Hugh nods, keeping his mouth shut because he can feel Paul still thinking.

”I want. Obviously,” he presses his hips forward, “but. I...not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” he agrees, giving Paul the lightest of kisses. It’s sweetly chaste, like a promise, one he knows is understood.

”May I-“

”Could you-“

He should have known how easy it would be to fit back into the spaces they’ve made for each other.

”Go ahead.”

”May I hold you?”

To anyone else it might seem a superfluous request, implicit permission from all the nights prior. To Hugh though, it speaks to just how carefully they’re navigating this.

”Please. Yes, sweetheart.”

One more squeeze, then Paul releases his fingers and gently nudges his shoulder. Hugh rolls over, pulling his knees up as he feels Paul’s chest against his back, an arm wrapped around his waist. The weight is familiar, solid and grounding, communication in a language that words couldn’t describe. A kiss to the back of his neck, then Paul’s palm flattens over his stomach, pinky tucking itself just beneath the elastic waistband of his pajama pants. 

His body knows, there is nothing more right in the universe.

_Yes_.


	238. Sacred, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from the previous chapter

They don't have sex the next night, or the one after that either. They don't need to, when all of their senses are fully aroused in other ways, alive with touch and sight and smell and taste and sound. 

Hugh re-maps the notch of Paul's collarbone, the constellations of freckles dusting his shoulders and chest. 

> He counts Paul's eyelashes as they dip in relaxation, traces over his knuckles and kisses each fingertip. 
> 
> He confirms that yes, catching Paul's lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging makes him gasp.
> 
> He runs his palm down the curve of hip and thigh, feeling the muscles and tendons tremble, the tickle of hair against his skin.

Paul explores the new, old landscape of Hugh's form, visits each of the places where scars and wrinkles used to sit, waypoints that guided him existing only now in memory.

> He kisses the strong line of his jaw, tastes the sweat on his throat, follows the veins up his forearm with his tongue.
> 
> He presses his fingers into the grooves between the muscles of Hugh's torso, reassuring himself of their solidity.
> 
> He listens to Hugh's heartbeat, loses himself in it and lets it encompass his entire awareness.

They explore each other's bodies, unhurried and careful, making love in a way that doesn't involve the pursuit of orgasm. Their hands and lips are reverent, sharing kiss after kiss, reminders that they know each other in a way that nothing - not even death - could change. 

They belong to each other.


	239. Solution (Duct Tape Optional)

“Are you ever mad at me for it?”

Hugh’s pulled abruptly out of his reading by Paul’s quiet but serious question. 

”...what?”

He reaches his arm out to set his PADD on the nightstand. When he turns back, Paul’s watching him from where he’s been using Hugh’s chest as a pillow, lying at a right angle so that his body is parallel to the headboard. His cheek is resting just above Hugh’s heart, and he’d honestly thought his partner asleep until just a moment ago.

”Mad at you for what, love?”

”Wasting time.”

Now he’s even more confused.

”I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Paul nods slowly, then pushes up on an elbow until he can lever himself to sit facing Hugh, hip level with his waist. 

“For...driving you away. And for not trying to apologize sooner.”

_Oh_.

This doesn’t feel like a typical bedroom conversation he can have lying down, and he sits up as well, taking Paul’s hands in his.

”Sweetheart,” he sighs, “no. If you’re not angry with me for walking out like that, for saying what I did, how would it be fair for me to?”

”I- I don’t know? I don’t know.”

”I wasn’t ready to be with you again yet.”

It hurts, but it’s the truth, spoken as gently as he can manage. He squeezes Paul’s fingers, who closes his mouth on whatever response he was about to make and waits for Hugh to continue.

”You don’t get to blame it all on yourself. Even if...even if it hadn’t happened like that, I wasn’t feeling like I even knew myself. And,” he raises his voice a little at the protest he can see building in Paul’s eyes, “you’ve blamed yourself for enough already.”

Paul chews his lip, seemingly unsatisfied.

”I could have been there for you, if I’d just listened.”

”Yes,” Hugh releases one hand to cradle Paul’s cheek in his palm, “or maybe no. Neither of us knows.”

It’s been hard to talk about those weeks apart after his resurrection (_re-embodiment_, Tracy prefers to call it), but they haven’t shied away from the difficult conversations lasting long into ship’s night. Moreover, it’s the reason that they’re tucked in bed together again, after Hugh was convinced that Paul could still love him as he is now, after Paul was convinced that Hugh hadn’t returned to him out of guilt or a misguided sense of atonement.

“But-“

”But, I would hope that you don’t spend this time we have now worrying about the past.”

There’s no reproach in his tone, but Paul’s eyes flick away.

”I don’t want to let that happen again.”

”Babe,” he tries for levity, “I’m not planning on needing to be rescued from the network again.”

That makes the corner of Paul’s lips twitch, so he counts it as a win.

”That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to ever not see you or hear you, not listen because of something I want.”

They’ve been working on communication to the point that Hugh thinks it’s even more clear than before, not clouded by war and frustration and resentment. He’s glad of it, for not taking for granted that they know how the other is feeling or what he’s thinking. 

“You won’t, Paul.”

The use of his name breaks through, and he can see the tension leaving Paul’s shoulders. Hugh leans forward to kiss him, then urges him back under the covers.

”What brought this on?”

He snuggles up, resting his head on Paul’s shoulder.

”Reno.”

”Reno?”

”So,” Paul huffs a half-groan and half-laugh, “she decided to explain to Adira that if we ever are- what did she say...’have our heads up our own asses’ again, she’s going to weld us into a Jefferies Tube until we work it out.”

Hugh snorts.

”Okay, that sounds about right.”

“Yeah.”

Whatever else Paul might be intending to say is lost in a yawn, one that Hugh echoes helplessly.

”Sleep?”

”Mmhmm. Computer, lights.”

One kiss. Two. 

“I love you, Hugh.”

”I love you too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested in reading a scenario where Reno, Tilly, and Tracy decide to lock them in a Jefferies Tube until they sort things out, head on over to Chapter 5 of Paths Not Taken.


	240. Seasons (of Love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve spent 239 chapters resisting this title because it felt too cliché, but Paul and Hugh argued otherwise.
> 
> The other option was “Series”.

His lover kisses like he’s surrendering, mouth soft and pliant beneath his as he surges forward.

He kisses like he’s drowning, gasping for air and breath.

He kisses as though they have all the time in the universe, slow and deep and savoring each moment.

He kisses like it’s as natural as breathing, hello and goodbye and goodnight.

He kisses like the years stretched between them are but a rehearsal, each one sweeter than the last.

He kisses as if learning him anew, tentative and testing.

He kisses with the blazing heat of summer, the promise of spring in winter’s chill.

He kisses with insatiable hunger, plundering, possessing, never satisfied.

He kisses as though he’s worshipping something sacred, reverently touching his lips, his cheek with shaking fingertips.

He kisses like they’ve been separated by death, until their love dwindled to the tiniest thread.

He kisses with the fierceness that refused to let that thread break, no matter what their words said, the naked hope when their bond traversed time itself to heal.

He kisses like joy and happiness, sunshine and salty tears and laughter and song.

His kisses taste like love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unspecified perspective :)
> 
> I don’t say this enough, but thank you all SO MUCH for your comments and suggestions and questions. Writing is my first love, and to know that it’s enjoyed by others is the most rewarding thing in the world.


	241. Suspended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Body-worship, banter, and love.

Paul’s chest makes a lovely pillow, warm and broad with a steady heartbeat and gentle rise-and-fall with each breath that makes Hugh smile. He knows each freckle (although he’s not averse to becoming reacquainted) and exactly how far down he can follow the trail of barely-visible hair over Paul’s belly before he starts to get ticklish. His scent is strong here too - not quite as much as that special spot behind his right ear - woodsy and welcoming, especially when they’re cuddling skin to skin. The hollows between his ribs are a perfect fit for Hugh’s fingers, and the bit of extra bulk at his waist is perfect for squeezing. In fact-

“You’re doing it again.”

His partner’s amused voice interrupts Hugh’s reverie.

”Hmmm?”

Hugh raises his head, taking in Paul’s indulgent expression and the glasses perched on the end of his nose. His lips are pink from licking them while he concentrates on reading, and the bedside light illuminates the shadow of stubble on his chin.

_It really shouldn’t be possible to be this attractive, _he muses, _not that that’s a complaint..._

“Stamets to Culber,” Paul’s chest rumbles with his chuckle, “where are you right now?”

“Right here,” he murmurs, unashamed to be caught in his Paul-appreciation, “wondering how I got this lucky.”

Paul blushes enough for both of them, even now, although there’s no hiding his pleased smile.

”I seem to recall it’s because you decided to annoy a stranger in a cafe with your humming.”

”Oh. Right.”

Huffing another laugh at Hugh’s pretense of realization, he rocks up long enough to steal a kiss.

”Exactly.”

It’s hard to remember what they were talking about before, when well-worn memories are playing in his mind of a handsome man with an adorable scowl and the most beautiful eyes Hugh’s ever seen. 

“...what was I doing?”

One pale hand comes up, a finger pointing and sketching a curve across his left pectoral. It’s a shape Hugh knows well, the scar over his love’s heart. He hadn’t questioned when Paul chose to keep it, just showers it with kisses and gentle caresses whenever he can.

Hugh had been idly nuzzling at Paul’s chest while he drifted. Although he doesn’t remember specifically, there’s an eighty percent likelihood that he was tracing it with his nose or lips. Again.

“Ahh. Sorry.”

He’s not apologizing for doing it (nor does he think Paul expects him to), but it does mean he’s been neglecting the rest of Paul’s delicious skin. 

“You’re forgiven,” Paul hauls another pillow under his head so that he can look at Hugh without straining his neck, “but, while you’re down there...”

”You want my mouth somewhere else?”

Hugh lets his fingers walk down Paul’s stomach, detouring around the dip of his navel and flirting with the drawstrings on his pajama pants. A nudge on his wrist halts his advance, and he raises an eyebrow.

”No?”

”Not that I’m opposed. But I was thinking somewhere further up in the general vicinity.”

It takes an effort of will to keep a mostly straight face at Paul’s playfully serious response.

”Oh. What about-“ he hooks a finger over a prominent collarbone, “here?”

”Mmm. Warmer. A bit too high though.”

They both know where this is going, but Hugh’s not in any hurry to get there, not when their back and forth is wreathing him in contentment. Instead, he taps the same finger in the middle of Paul’s sternum.

”Here, then?”

There’s a sparse patch of hair under his hand, and he scratches at it lightly.

”Closer. Right height, though.”

He skates his hand all the way around to under Paul’s armpit.

”Here?”

Paul squirms when he wiggles the finger teasingly.

”More towards the middle.”

Hugh puts on his best frown of concentration.

”Left or right of midline?”

Accidentally slipping into medical terminology gets him a snort, Paul’s lower lip fighting to stay neutral.

”Either, really. Your pick.”

”Hmm. Not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

He traces a meandering path back, deliberately avoiding where Paul wants him to go.

“You might have better luck finding it with your mouth.”

”Yeah?”

”Mmhmm.”

”Okay.”

Winking, Hugh gives in with the game and licks Paul’s left nipple. The reaction he gets is well worth the wait though - those beautiful eyes flutter shut and a shiver rolls over his skin. He repeats the action, lapping at the nub then sealing his lips around it to suck. Predictably, Paul arches up, thrusting his chest further towards Hugh’s mouth, and he flicks with his tongue until he earns a drawn-out moan.

He releases Paul’s nipple long enough to ask, “Is this the right place?”

A hand on the back of his head is all the answer he gets, so he smiles and gets back to work. He switches sides after Paul’s squirming gets too wiggly, plucking at the nipple he abandoned with spit-slick fingertips. Surprisingly, Paul ignores the thigh thrown over his hips, just scratches at the back of his neck with every careful nibble and makes breathless noises of approval.

Hugh loses track of time, only stops when both nipples are reddened and too sensitive for more. Paul’s gloriously aroused, but he doesn’t move to touch himself or ask Hugh to. Instead, he opens his eyes with a satisfied hum, stroking Hugh’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

_Ahh_.

Paul, Hugh’s learned, sometimes likes the slow buildup of pleasure in his body, enjoying Hugh’s attention without seeking release. He nudges Hugh’s half-hard dick with his thigh, an offer in his smile.

”Nah.”

There’s a certain kind of satiation in pleasing Paul when he’s like this, one that leaves the knot of desire to warm his groin. The kind that gives him the best kind of dreams, and usually means an enthusiastic (if sleepy) round of morning sex. He’s perfectly content to wait, especially with that look of blissful fulfillment on his lover’s face. 

Reaching over the edge of the bed, he retrieves Paul’s shirt, knowing the sheet will be too rough on his chest without it. Then he tugs the covers up and snuggles into Paul’s side, claiming a thorough goodnight kiss before he closes his eyes. Hugh falls asleep with a smile, anticipation coiled in his stomach as he does.

It’s going to be a _good_ morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone for whom intimacy and trust are relationship goals...yeah.


	242. Suffer, Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows the previous three “Suffer” snippets from Chapters [24](%E2%80%9C), [74](%E2%80%9C), [91](%E2%80%9C), where Tilly grows closer to Paul as he deals with his grief.

It’s a normal day onboard - as far as “normal” ever extends to Discovery - as far as Tilly can tell, when there’s a sharp inhale followed by a noise like a suppressed sneeze. Her head jerks up and she glances around, but nothing stands out. Harrington is under a console, Stamets is working on simulations in the corner, and that just leaves her running a diagnostic on the drive. 

_Weird. _

Eighteen percent later, she hears a sniffle that’s quickly cut off. All she can see of Harrington is her legs from the knee down, and Stamets has his back to her completely, so that’s no use either. 

_Maybe the console is dusty?_

Shaking her head, she goes back to debugging the flow controller, frowning at the progress bar that seems to be moving slower than a Rigellian tortoise.

“Can somebody tell me,” Reno’s voice accompanies the door swishing open, “why there’s _four_ backup shunts for your mushroom highway, but the actual engine only has two?”

Tilly makes eye contact with Harrington, who emerges from under the console with a shrug.

“Ship’s designed that way,” she reaches for her toolkit, “way above my pay grade.”

”And whose bright idea was that? Did they talk to an actual engineer when they built this thing?”

To her left, Stamets’ shoulders stiffen, and Tilly wonders if she’s going to regret opening her mouth. Not that that’s any different than usual, but still.

”Umm. Actually...Commander Stamets designed it that way. I mean, the ship was built for the spore drive, so-“

Reno holds up her hand.

”Got it. Mushroom Lord, you’re awfully quiet.”

Stamets doesn’t turn around, but Tilly can hear something odd in his voice.

”I’m busy.”

Rolling her eyes, Reno marches over, propping an elbow on the console.

”Well if you ask me- Stamets?”

Her tone goes from the one she uses to deliberately needle Stamets to something else that Tilly needs a moment to place.

_Concern_.

Reno doesn’t follow that with a sharp comment, but rather leans forward and gently places her hand on his wrist. Tilly shakes her head, because she has to be seeing things. Except-

“I’m fine.”

The two syllables are clipped, and Tilly gets the briefest flash of flushed cheeks and reddened eyes as he pivots and practically runs into the cultivation bay.

”...Reno?”

Harrington sounds as confused as Tilly feels. For her part, Reno sighs quietly, gaze gone distant.

”You...” she trails off, frowning, “right.”

Before either of them can ask what she means, Reno crosses the bay and is in the corridor with the doors swishing closed behind her.

”What was that?”

”No idea. Hang on...”

Tilly checks and- yes, Stamets has locked the doors of the cultivation bay, but it still accepts her code without challenge.

“-I’ll,” she gestures at the doors, “go...do something.”

”Good luck.”

* * *

Inside, she doesn’t bother checking any of the other spots, just heads straight for the back corner behind the secondary environmental controls. 

“Commander?”

She can just make out blond hair on the other side of the console, and steps around it to find Stamets sitting on the deck, staring at the bulkhead. It’s not the first time, or even the first half dozen, so Tilly lowers herself onto a crate and waits.

Eventually, Stamets turns his head to look at her. He’s not actively crying, but there are suspiciously damp patches on both sleeve cuffs and his nose looks raw.

”Tilly.”

”What happened? Is it...about Doc- about Hugh?”

A weary nod.

If anyone had told her five months ago that she’d be the one of the people her boss chooses to talk to about his dead partner, she’d have laughed. 

“Condolences,” he says quietly, “they keep coming. Hugh...had a lot of friends.”

Tilly nods. It makes perfect sense - Dr. Culber had been on good terms with everyone (except Lorca), and she’s sure it wasn’t just for show. 

Sighing, Stamets angles his PADD towards her. A comm is open, bearing a short message that she politely doesn’t read and a small image written over with script.

”...shit.”

She clamps down on the instinct to apologize, because it draws a wan smile on Stamets’ bitten lips. 

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to talk more, so she flicks on her own PADD and calls up the diagnostic. Line after line of code scrolls past, and she highlights a few sections to examine more closely later, mind only half focused. The other half is wondering just how many more bits of himself that Stamets can stand to lose with each reminder, before there’s nothing left. 

Tilly supposes the sender meant the message as one of understanding and acknowledging the deep love they’d shared. His grief is a heavy thing, a burden he seems to be able to set aside but is still ever present. There’s not much anyone seems to be able to do, so she stubbornly refuses to let him be alone when he doesn’t make an effort to lock her out with everyone else. At the very least, she can listen, even when he’s silent.

The war taught her many things, some good and many painful or frightening that she’s slowly moving past. Loss, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a fix other than time. Still, she can’t comprehend the unfairness of it all. Not now, and maybe not ever. 

It’s another twenty minutes before Stamets stirs, rising slowly to his feet. He doesn’t look at her, but the quiet “thank you” as he passes is more than enough for her. She just wishes she could do more for him.

** _If love alone could have saved you, you would have lived forever._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is by no means a product of me crying my eyes out when I stumbled across this quote. We lost our family bird after 28 years in late 2019, and I’m still not over it.


	243. Shore Leave, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space Family goes camping: a prologue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the promised fluff to make up for the angst of the last chapter!

Discovery’s upgrades included the conversion of a few lounges into holosuites, Lounge H among them. Admittedly, Tilly had been slightly skeptical when Adira described the immersive reality of holosuites. Holotechnology was good in the twenty-third century, but she’s still digesting the current use of holograms almost indistinguishable from sentient beings. It’s simultaneously really, _really_ cool and also creepy as hell.

It isn’t until Adira drags her into a perfect recreation of the old oak tree at the Academy - programmed to replicate its appearance in the mid-2250s - that she believes them. The simulation is flawless, down to the knobby root that she always tripped over and the scent of the grass. 

“Tilly?”

Adira’s looking mildly concerned, and Tilly blinks away moisture in her eyes before it can fall.

”This is perfect,” she grins, “I- this place is special for a lot of the crew. For me.”

”Here?”

She points to particular spot on the trunk, and watches as Adira squints, clearly trying to determine what sets it apart from any other patch of bark.

”Here.”

”...I don’t get it.”

“I used to sit here and study. It’s...well, it’s been a lot longer, but like not even two years ago, for me. And,” Tilly feels her cheeks heat, “this is where I had my first kiss. That I liked, I mean. I was this super awkward kid, but here...at the Academy, even though there were so many people, I felt less alone.”

Silence.

Adira is frowning, but it doesn’t look like they’re upset. Rather, they seem to be thinking, coming to some sort of conclusion.

”I know what you...me, too. Here. On Discovery, not here, but...I never really fit anywhere. It was just me and Gray for so long, and I thought that I’d never find people who get that.”

They're veering into emotional territory, and Tilly gently nudges them with her elbow.

”You’re in the right place for it. We’re...all cobbled together in a way. That’s what this ship is. And,” she smiles, “you’ve got the best people on Discovery looking out for you. Err. Not me, I mean.”

”I think you should mean you too.”

Shaking her head, Tilly makes a vague demurring noise.

“I meant Stamets and Culber.”

”They’re pretty cool, even if they’re old,” Adira snickers, mischievous smile in place, “like, they’ve been together almost as long as I’ve been alive.”

”You’re not that old.”

”Most of your life too.”

Tilly has to concede that point.

”Yeah.”

Adira nudges a few loose pebbles with their boot.

“So what do you think?”

A thought wiggles its way into Tilly’s head. It’s hardly a rare occurrence, but she gives it a moment anyway.

”Almost as good as shore leave. Makes sense though, I guess, being in the middle of nowhere without warp, people are going to want to get away.”

”Better, because it’s all safe in here too. You know, you could program this to be anywhere, any time. I bet there’s lots of places you’ve never even heard of yet! I haven’t been there either, not for real, but if you want? I could show you.”

Tilly has about fifty different things she’d love to see - Newton’s lectures, the twenty-first century Golden Gate Bridge, and St. Louis before the arch was restored amongst them.

”Yes. Yes!”

Adira looks to the side, and Tilly supposed they’re listening to Gray.

”Umm. Tell Gray I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore him.”

“You’re fine, it’s okay. Gray says he doesn’t mind listening. He likes you, too.”

There’s a little bit of sadness in their voice, and she tries to think of what would bring them both some comfort.

”We’ll find a way so he can talk to us too. Stamets and Culber are like the best people for that, because they don’t give up, okay? They won’t let you down. And I want to help too, so...yeah.”

Adira looks down, and Tilly decides they probably ought to get back to what they were originally saying.

”Anyway! Umm, how many programs do you have?”

”A lot?”

”Oh.”

_Great answer, Sylvia._

“Where do you want to start?”

”Anywhere. You pick?”

”Okay,” Adira grins, “I’ve got the perfect place.”


	244. Symptom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh gets sick, and Paul freaks out. Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title suggested by LadyRiona :) References [Chapter 117 ("Sick").](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217656/chapters/65518777)

“You’ve navigated this ship across universes with your sheer stubbornness, Paul,” Tracy’s tone is amused, “surely you can manage this.”

”I don’t know what to do.”

Her look makes him roll his eyes even as he gently strokes Hugh's hand. It's not burning hot like before, but the fever still has his temperature above even his usual warmth. 

”I mean I _know_, I’ve just never...”

_Encountering thirty-second century viruses was bound to be a challenge, obviously, but why does a **doctor** have to be the one who gets sick?_

"I know you're capable of taking care of him. Even if you commed me every two hours when he had the flu."

He tries to glare, but judging by Tracy's raised eyebrow, Paul thinks he probably just ends up looking petulant.

"That's not the point. He was just sleeping a lot and could still get out of bed on his own."

”I can’t believe I’m asking this. You’ve cleaned him up after the two of you do whatever it is that keeps your neighbors awake?”

”...yeah.”

There's a weak squeeze of his fingers, and he glances down into fever-bright eyes. 

"Mmmuhh."

Hugh seems too exhausted to speak, but the groaning grumble manages to communicate both affection and exasperation.

"We know you're still here," Tracy gives his shoulder a pat, "trying to convince someone that you're just going to be miserable for a few days. And if I keep you here, that same someone is going to spend his whole time off-shift hovering and you're going to try and get out of bed to work."

"I-"

"Mmmphh."

Hugh's side-eye tells Paul that he agrees.

"I hate this," Paul mutters, scrubbing both palms across his face, then hurrying to take Hugh's hand again when he tries to lift it but only makes it a couple of inches before dropping again. 

"HmmmMmmm."

”What does Hugh usually do when you’re too sick to get out of bed?”

Tracy's speaking in that too-reasonable tone that he recognizes from Hugh, the one he uses when he's trying to explain to Paul that staying awake for thirty-six hours isn't healthy or that Tilly's broken arm will be fine after a few hours of regeneration. 

”...he makes me Aida's vegetable soup and carries me to the shower.”

Fever or no, the look Hugh gives Paul is full of love. His fussing is the only thing that makes being sick bearable, particularly sitting on the floor of a steam-filled shower cradled on his lap, but he's not going to mention that. 

Tracy probably already knows anyway. 

"You'll be fine. Should I make it an order?" 

"You don't outrank me."

"Hugh does."

"We're the same rank."

A huff of air from Hugh that's probably supposed to be a laugh.

"Medical's outside the command structure. Do I need to remind you I'm acting CMO while he's out of commission?"

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Paul chews his lip.

"What if he gets worse?"

"Paul," she drops Dr. Pollard's tone to become Tracy, Hugh's friend, again, "mild fever, headache, muscle weakness, and possibly some vertigo, but that's it. Tuck him in bed for a few days, make sure he has enough water, and let Adira keep an eye on him while you're on shift. And it's safe to sleep next to him, because I know you two won't listen to quarantine anyway."

"Mmmhmm."

They both turn their heads to look at Hugh, who seems about to fall asleep again despite the way he's clinging to Paul's hand. He opens his mouth, jaw moving but no words coming out except a noise of frustration. 

"Hugh?"

Frowning, Paul holds the glass while he takes a sip of water, head falling back with a grimace and eyes squeezed shut.

"...home," he whispers through chapped lips.

Paul's shoulders slump, and he leans over to brush a kiss over Hugh's sweaty forehead before nodding at Tracy.

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the intermission, I'm still working on Part Two of "Shore Leave" a.k.a. "Space Family Goes Camping".


End file.
